Contracting: Pureblood Pride and Muggleborn Prejudice
by Nerilla
Summary: When war breaks, it's drawn over Hadrian's Wall. Orphaned and raised by bigoted muggle relations, Harry embraced the Magical World and soon loathes anything and everything muggle. Clinging to his pureblood heritage, Harry is sorted into Slytherin and endeavours to remain unknown, but finds himself at the centre of a Civil War. AU (Adopted from Septima Holen)(REWRITE)
1. Beginnings

**MAGIC IS MIGHT: PUREBLOOD PRIDE AND MUGGLEBORN PREJUDICE**

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 **Short Summary** **:** **When war breaks, it's drawn over Hadrian's Wall. Orphaned and raised by bigoted muggle relations, Harry embraced the Magical World and soon loathes anything and everything muggle. Clinging to his pureblood heritage, Harry is sorted into Slytherin and endeavours to remain unknown, but finds himself at the centre of a Civil War.** **AU, Civil War, Pureblood Culture, Slytherin HP, Non-BWL, Dark, Weasley Bashing, Begins 4** **th** **year.**

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 **Disclaimer** **: Harry Potter series belongs to J.K. ROWLING. Enjoy!**

 **Co-Written & Adopted from ****Septima Holen** **: Originally titled '** **Contracting** **' (Check Profile for more detail)**

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 **Warnings** **: This work is rated M for future violence (nothing explicit) and references to sibling abuse (nothing explicit). There will be no explicit/graphic sexual or violent scenes, but they will be mentioned and referenced to throughout this work. Transgender-ism, gender fluidity, homosexuality, etc. will be present within this work, if you don't like this, don't read.**

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 **Extended Summary** **: The Dark Lord marked his equal in Neville Longbottom, leaving the Potters to be burned alive by one fanatical Bellatrix Lestrange & crew. Orphaned, Harry is abandoned with his only living relatives, the muggle Durselys. Harry Potter never graced the halls of Hogwarts, Harry Peverell, however, did. Upon discovering his true heritage, Harry embraces pureblood culture and magical customs, hoping to escape his abusive past with muggles. He claims House Peverell as his own and endeavours to hide his true origins, instead striving for the reemergence of House Peverell. Sorted into Slytherin, Harry finds many purebloods of the darker variety that share his low views on muggles. Harry soon finds himself entrenched in pureblood politics and society, the half-breed Daphne Greengrass attempting to contract him with a betrothal all the while. When war breaks, lines are drawn, specifically over Hadrian's Wall; a Civil War begins between purebloods and blood-traitors; between Scotland and England. Harry declares his alliance to the Dark, fighting against the Light and the Boy-Who-Lived, Neville Longbottom.**

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 **A/N** **: First of all, I owe an apology to my readers not only for the long awaited update, but also for the rewrite. All the chapters have been edited to varying extents (the first three previously published). I have my reasons for the rewrite, most prominently among them being the plot and flow of the work. I apologize if some of my readers dislike the new version of events and understand if you wish to un-follow or un-favourite this fanfiction. Please, however, refrain from asking me to repost the original work, as I wasn't happy with it, hence the long awaited update. My writings are purely for my own and others' enjoyment, if you don't enjoy the rewrite, don't' continue to read it. I have written an extended summary above that will be posted with the first five chapters for those wanting a more general overview of events. My original work had been geared more towards romance, which I wasn't that committed to. There still will be romance, but it will not be the main aspect of the plot – the rewrite on the other hand will focus on pureblood/magical culture, politics, war, etc.. Please read Author's note at the end of the chapter and I hope you enjoy.**

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 **CHAPTER I – BEGINNINGS**

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 **D** aphne wasn't a particularly beautiful girl, or adolescent, which ever you prefer – she was the type of girl with a forgettable face and she was just that on most occasions, forgettable. It was a relatively warm midday in late august and the sun was three-quarters through the sky, a quarter away from darkness. She sat in her average sized room staring blankly at the white walls with nothing better to do or really no available freedom to do them. It was a quintessential moment to describe her life.

A knock on her bedroom door brought her out of her stupor, well, a knock would be far too polite a term – it was actually her elder half-brother walking into her room _without_ knocking, it brought her out of her stupor either way. She tensed immediately; Xavier was one of her least favorite half-brothers. Fortunately, he apparently wasn't in her room for what she had initially expected was his intent if the bored and slightly annoyed look in his eyes was anything to go by.

"Father has requested you to come to his study for a meeting, immediately." Xavier spoke tersely and turned around to leave, but hesitated a moment. He turned back to look at her with a contemplative gaze and then spoke again in an uncaring tone. "Oh, and once your done with him could you come to my room?" He didn't wait for a response. "Perfect". Then he walked away to continue on with his day like he had never even spoken to her.

She closed her eyes and sighed heavily, pushing her silken black locks out of her face – looking up at her ceiling in trepidation; a meeting with her Lord was never a good omen. With an exceptionally somber grace she stood to her feet and glanced at her bedroom mirror to ensure her headband was firmly in place and that she was acceptable looking before meeting her Lord.

The walk through the Greengrass Manor wasn't a particularly long one since House Greengrass was not a overly large or ancient House, but that didn't mean that they were poor by any means. By the time she reached her Lord's study it had been five minutes since the request for her presence was delivered to her. With one final sigh she knocked once on her Lord's study door – a bastard, half-breed daughter may not deserve privacy but a Lord surely did.

"Enter." Was the terse response that met her knock and so she gently opened the door, entered, and closed it silently behind her. She stood before her Lord's desk and bowed subtly in respect.

"You requested my presence, my Lord." She was _never_ to address him as father.

"Indeed, have a seat, Daphne." She obediently satisfied his demand and immediately sat herself in one of the two fluffy armchairs facing his desk; he stared at her in silence for a moment and then spoke. He looked up to her after another moment, ice-blue eyes meeting an identical set.

"As you well know your bastard status hinders your ability to meet the expectations of a child born to House Greengrass, but this should never prevent you from doing so." Their meetings always started out in this manner. "What I would like to address today will be detrimental in your future, Daphne. Tell me, do you seek the hand of any particular man or woman?" She was caught completely off guard by the question, but knew she should have expected it since she was around the age when the nobles began discussing possible betrothal contracts. Gathering herself together and speaking in a neutral tone she responded:

"No, my Lord." She stated curtly, not particularly enthused by the topic. Her father nodded in understanding and then picked up a stack of parchment from atop his desk and handed it over to her.

"I'm assuming you would prefer someone of your own age and of the opposite gender, correct?" She nodded. "This is a vague idea of what I know of your year's male students, the majority of the older years are either not suitable or taken and the younger years are unacceptable since I want you married off as soon as possible." It wasn't a surprise that he wanted her gone but she still winced internally. "From what I have gathered your only available and suitable potential partners are Heir Zacharias Smith, Heir Ernest Macmillan, Heir Anthony Goldstein, Heir Harry Peverell, Stephan Cornfoot, Lucas Moon, Blaise Zabini, and Michel Corner. What are your thoughts on these potential partners?" Daphne paused and looked over the list and contemplated how to answer.

"Well… Michel Corner is not an option due to his homosexual status…" Her father interrupted her with a raised eyebrow.

"I was not aware of this, cross him off the list then." She nodded and followed his command.

"As for Blaise Zabini… I believe he is actually in a current relationship with Corner, but I do not believe he is only interested in those of the same sex."

"I do not want to risk the ire of the Zabini family or the loss of the Corner alliance." She crossed those two out and continued.

"It is not concrete, yet, but Stephan Cornfoot and Tracey Davis are currently negotiating a betrothal contract." Her father sighed and motioned her to cross him off the list as well. "As for Zacharias Smith, Ernest Macmillan, Lucas Moon, Harry Peverell, and Anthony Goldstein, they are currently all _officially_ available, as far as I know." Her father nodded and rested his back to his desk chair and thought for a moment.

"Heir Zacharias Smith is the last descendent of the Hufflepuff line since his immediate family was killed off in the war, as such there is no one with authority over him to arrange a betrothal for him. As you know this means that the only thing that would complicate a shared partnership is your ability to coincide together and reproduce – would you be able to win his hand?" Daphne knew very little about Smith besides him being a Hufflepuff, but they had been forced to do a runes project together last year and it had been very difficult to work together because of Smith's perceived entitlement.

"No, I don't think I would be able to." Her father nodded in acceptance – he may not love her or anything of the sort but he could sympathize with a poor betrothal arrangement; her existence was proof of that.

"Heir Ernest Macmillan is from an influential house with strong connections throughout the magical world, an alliance with the House of Macmillan would be a great boon to our own house." She paused and tried to think back to what little she knew of Macmillan and what she found was unimpressive – he was a Hufflepuff version of Draco Malfoy.

"He could be a potential partner, but I truthfully don't believe we would be happy together – our relationship would be tolerable at best."

"Moving on then, now we have Heir Harry Peverell. The boy is also a complete unknown, having come out to claim the dormant House Peverell and has had little to no societal interaction outside of school. His parents have yet to make a public appearance nor has his father made claim to being Lord of House Peverell, for this reason it has been _rumoured_ that Heir Peverell is either orphaned or of creature blood, like yourself. However, this is yet to be seen.

"As a student the boy has done relatively good work, being tenth in ranking within your year group, and has been nothing but an exemplary student. From what little information I have on his personality he has been described as polite, respectful, and shy – this is only coming from what little interaction the boy has had with other pureblood families. That is the extent of my knowledge." Daphne nodded for him to continue on. "Well, the other two left are Heir Anthony Goldstein and Lucas Moon."

"Anthony Goldstein has… made it quite clear that he has little to no respect for relationships, at least for the foreseeable future, while Lucas Moon has made little initiative to interact with anyone at all besides his sister and cousins." Her father sighed at that, but nodded to her in understanding.

"That limits your options significantly to only Heir Peverell, do you believe yourself capable of winning him over?"

"I know very little about him, but I'll will attempt to do so."

"This coming year there will be a Tri-wizard tournament held at Hogwarts, which should be kept secret, and during the tournament there will be a grand Yule Ball held at Hogwarts, which will provide you with plenty of opportunity. I would like to have a contract done by the end of your fifth school year at the latest, do you understand?"

"Yes, my Lord."

"If you do not succeed in winning over Heir Peverell we will revaluate Heir Goldstein and Moon. You have until Yule to notify me of success, is that understood?"

"Yes, my Lord."

"You are dismissed then." She nodded and left with the parchment of potential suitors while her father turned back to his work. She walked mutely to her room, placed the parchment down on her desk, and opened it to Peverell's page.

 **Heir Harry of the House of Peverell**

 **St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies, Medical Records:**

 **Species:** _ **Homo magicus**_ **(1)**

 **Biological Gender: Male**

 **Medical Disabilities: None**

 **Medical Conditions: None**

 **Medical Accommodations: Prescription Glasses**

 **Allergies: Boomslang Skin**

 **Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Academic Records:**

 **Hogwarts House: Slytherin**

 **First Year:**

 **Class Ranking: 11th**

 **Second Year:**

 **Class Ranking: 10th**

 **Third Year:**

 **Class Ranking: 9th**

 **British Ministry of Magic, Department of Magical Identification, Magical British Citizen Background:**

 **Heir Peverell made claim to House Peverell at Gringotts Bank, London, England, at 07:23:44 on 20 June 1991. Heir Peverell's wand (11' Oak, Cetus Scale; Gregorovitch Creation) was registered at 12:46:13 on 20 June 1991 with the British Ministry of Magic, Department of Magical Identification. Heir Peverell attends Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry as a member of Slytherin House and is expected to graduate on 7 May 1998. Heir Peverell has a grim familiar, registered at 13:31:51 on 29 June 1994 with the British Ministry of Magic, Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. (2)**

Well, that told her some, but not much, except that apparently the rumours of the boy having creature blood weren't true. A good thing, really, for the mixing of multiple creatures could have incredibly undesirable results. She glanced up at the clock and sighed, knowing that if she didn't get to her brother's room soon he would get suspicious and come looking for her. Therefore, with no enthusiasm what so ever, she put down the parchment and made her way to her third eldest half-brother's room. The mahogany door was closed when she got there and had to knock for permission to enter, not that an illegitimate half-blood child like her was privy to the same treatment, she thought bitterly. After a couple moments of silence she heard a 'Come in' from the other side of the door, entered, and locked the door behind her as was expected of her. When she turned around she took in her least favourite room of the house, which was painted in dull beige and decorated in a garish Victorian style – she hated it.

Xavier was currently still working at his desk so she stiffly walked over to the edge of the bed and sat herself there and waited patiently while he finished what ever work he was doing, probably something to do with his stupid alchemic work. In her opinion his dream of making the next philosopher stone was already a dead one; only three philosopher stones had _ever_ been created in the entire history of alchemy and there was no way in Morgana's realm that Xavier would make the fourth.

She much preferred the company of her eldest half-brother, Xenophon, who was nowadays working in Greece on behalf of their father. It worked well for everyone but her, really, since the Greengrass trading business found a lot of profitable wares in the ancient lands – Xeno still wrote her often though and always sent an interesting little artifact for her. She couldn't wait till Xeno took up the Greengrass' Lordship, but she knew that was many years away.

Her second eldest half-brother, Xerxes, was okay, but not great – he tended to ignore her all together, not that he treated anyone else differently. He was just plain creepy to put it bluntly, but genuinely a good person – just a good person with social inadequacies. She hadn't seen him since she was six or something and no one ever knew what was happening with him – though the last thing they heard was that he was in Mongolia researching something about decoding. She really didn't care as long as he didn't hate or hurt her.

Unlike Xeno, who was actually a brother to her and wasn't ashamed to say so, or Xanthus, who could care less about who lived or died in the family, Xavier had always been very demeaning towards her not only because of her illegitimate and female status. She knew a lot of muggle cultures were sexist, but the magical world had always taken a bit of pride in the fact that they weren't – it traced far back to the druidic tribes were women and men were held as equal because the sun and moon were equal in their eyes.

She was brought out of her thought, however, by Xavier finally finishing his work and turning his chair around to face her – he eyed her crudely. "What did father speak to you about?" His tone was demanding, expecting an answer.

"Potential partners, I'm of contracting age." She spoke crisply and enjoyed the displeasure that flashed across Xavier's face.

"Like anyone of worth would want your worthless blood mixing with their own – not to mention your unfortunate conception sullying their name." He stood from his seat and walked over to her and laid down on the bed next to her – she wanted to glare him down, but knew it futile. "Whom does father want you to wed?"

"My Lord wants me to get to know Heir Peverell and decide whether or not to peruse a union at a later date."

"Humph, whatever he wishes – not that he has good taste in partners, you're proof of that." She bristled slightly, but refused to respond. "I don't understand why our societies marry off woman at your age to men of similar age, even the muggles know its best for a young woman to marry an older man who is more capable to support her."

She remained silent though. Reticence permeated the room for a time as neither spoke, after a minute Xavier moved to speak again but they were interrupted by a knock on the door.

"Xavier!" Her stepmother called from the other side of the door. "We're going to be late for the meeting with the Yaxleys if we don't head out soon – be at the front entrance in ten minutes." They remained silent as the sharp steps of her stepmother echoed away into nothingness.

Xavier sighed exasperatedly and got up, turned towards her, and with a disappointed look said, "We'll finish this later." He left the room immediately without a single glance backward. Daphne wasted no time in leaving the room after him and making a beeline to her own room before she locked the door and laid down upon her own bed and finally allowed herself to think about Harry, but came up short.

Despite being in the same Hogwarts House and within the same year, she had rarely to never interacted with the recluse of a boy. In fact, she could barely recall his appearance, barely even recalling that the boy had brown hair... or was it black? This was incredibly strange indeed, how could she know so little about one of her housemates?

She tried a different approach and tried to remember _who_ usually interacted with him since a friend of a person could tell you just as much as the person themselves… and she came up short again. Did Peverell even have friends? She had never seen him with the other lions on a regular basis so she assumed they weren't close… maybe he hanged out with the ravens of their year? She sighed in exasperation knowing that she really wouldn't find out much until school started and she could actually meet him – maybe she could go to a Quidditch game with him or som… Quidditch! That was something; Peverell was the Slytherin chaser since last year and was decent at it if the snakes' winning the cup was any indication.

Ok, so Quidditch was a start… would Malfoy know much about him – the guy was the Slytherin seeker after all? It couldn't really hurt to ask… So with that thought Daphne jumped to her feat and made her way to the sitting room where the floo network was set up and kneeled in front of the fireplace with a bag of green powder. A dash of powder and flame later she was calling the Malfoys – it only took a minute or so for someone to answer.

"Hello, who may this be?" A light feminine voice asked.

"Hello, Lady Malfoy, this is Daphne Greengrass, one of Draco's year mates. Is Draco available?"

"Yes, he is, but he's outside flying so you can come through and meet him in the yard." Daphne nodded and flooed to Malfoy Manor where Lady Malfoy greeted her neutrally and led her to one of the court yards where Malfoy Jr. was flying his Nimbus 2001. Lady Malfoy left her to wait for Malfoy to notice her and finally come down so she could question him, which took much longer than it should have, but after half an hour he finally came down to earth and looked startled to see her waiting there.

"Greengrass, what are _you_ doing here?" He sneered half heartedly, not really annoyed by her presence.

"Your mother let me in so I could ask you a couple questions." With Malfoy's raised eyebrow she continued. "Do you know anything about the Peverell Heir in our year – the Slytherin chaser?" He looked surprised at the mention of the name.

"Harry?" She nodded, noting idly that Malfoy was on a first name basis with Peverell. "Why are you asking?"

"In all truth?" He nodded. "Contracting, my Lord wants me to get to know him and sadly I barely know anything about him besides his basic history and grades." Malfoy nodded in understanding and sat down next to her. Malfoy was a prat most of the time, but did have those rare moments of kindness – usually only around fellow Slytherins.

"Well, first of all, I don't know where he stands on half-breeds like yourself... or anything really. Harry is always pretty quiet, private, but not necessarily shy – he just hates attention and is more awkward than anything. He likes Quidditch enough, but likes the flying itself better. He's much more about tactics and maneuvering on a broom than speed…"

"Anything _besides_ Quidditch, Malfoy?"

"I'm getting to it, Greengrass. Ok… he likes treacle tart… like a lot, um, he likes the colour green, too." This wasn't helping in Daphne's opinion. "Oh! He's like best friends with my house elf… though its much more one sided…"

"…What?" Did she hear that right?

"Here you can ask all about him with the elf, while I go back to flying. Dobby!" Before Daphne could get another word in a large eared house elf dressed in a white pillowcase and mismatched socks popped into existence.

"You's be calling me's, Master Dracie." The little elf said sullenly – Malfoy rolled his eyes at the elf's mood.

"My classmate, Daphne, wants to know about Harry, tell her everything you know while I finish my flying practice." Malfoy left without another word leaving her with a now exuberant house elf hoping in place with excitement.

"Master Dracie's classmate is also the great Harry's classmate too! What does the great Harry's classmate want to know about the great Harry?!" This day couldn't get any weirder for Daphne.

"Um, well anything and everything is fine, Dobby." The elf nodded happily and plopped himself next to her on the garden bench.

"The great Harry is very kind and polite and he likes Dobby's cooking! Harry takes baths in the evening and doesn't like to do so in the mornings – he uses pumpkins and cinnamons scented soaps and likes pies, especiallies pumpkins pie, but he likes treacles tarts betters! Harry drinks de pumpkins juices a lot and butter beers too! And Harry like to flying a lot a lot!"

"Dobby," She stopped him from speaking with a raised hand and gave him a strained smile. "Could you tell me who Peverell's friends are?"

"Yes, yes, Harry say that Dobby is his friend – Harry is a great wizard, very great!" The elf said ever so passionately.

"Does he have any human friends, too?"

"Yes, yep! Harry likey to play quiiiditch with the Dracie, too!" This was going nowhere.

"How does Peverell like Hogwarts, Dobby?" Glad that, at the very least, they were finally getting somewhere beyond Dobby's apparent human worshiping of Peverell.

"Harry _LOVES_ Hogywarts! He be very good, too – Hogywats elves be saying teacher be liking him, except no being likes by the Professor Snappie, he being unfair to the great Harry." Dobby wilted at the thought of anyone not liking his favorite wizard _ever_.

"Does Peverell have any other friends in our year, Dobby?" Trying to find more useful information.

Dobby was lost in thought for a couple moments, obviously contemplating the question. "… The great Harry be with the Grangy once, but Dobby doesn't think they be close… Dobby be thinking that Harry be friends with the Notty and the Su dressed in blue, but he not be too certain…"

"Dobby, I think that's enough for now, grab us something to drink." Dobby nodded, slightly disappointed, and popped away and back again with two butter beers. When the elf finally left to continue on with his work Malfoy made his offer.

"So, Greengrass, I was thinking of a little eye for an eye type agreement." He began sipping his butter beer idly.

"Oh?" She arched her eyebrow in question.

"Well, I could get you together this summer to meet, you and Harry I mean, but in return I want the same favour."

"Who does this favour involve, Malfoy?" She questioned hesitantly.

"Tracey Davis." He said simply.

"Not possible, the Cornfoots are already negotiating with the Greengrasses, and even though its not set in stone both Daphne and Cornfoot are all for it." Draco's face fell in disappointment, which Daphne didn't really get since Tracey had a personality that could rival a dementor when Malfoy was around. "Her younger sister, Lauren Davis, is still available though – she's a Ravenclaw, second year."

"Too young." He said annoyed and she glared at him in return.

"Two years isn't a big difference, Malfoy, you only have to wait until next year until you can ask her out to Hogsmead." Malfoy sighed but nodded his consent.

"Fine, but next year you have to set us up." She nodded in agreement. "Ok, now for Harry, he likes Quidditch a good amount and I just so happen to be going to the Quidditch World Cup in a week." Daphne's eyes brightened not only at the possibility to meet Peverell, but also get out of the house for a whole day.

"Its simple, really, I ask my father if I can invite some people along as an early Mabon present" Daphne rolled her eyes at that – **(3)** Mabon wasn't even a gift giving holiday, Draco was truly spoiled. "I'll invite Harry, Zabini, Nott, Davis, and you. You have three whole days to get to know him without it seeming like a set up." Malfoy tilted his head haughtily in pride of such a plan, which was actually very simple.

"Why those specific people?" She raised an eyebrow in confusion.

"Crabbe, Bulstrode, and Moon are out of the country on vacation while Parkinson and Goyle are going with their own families so none of them can come. Nott is Harry's potions partner, Zabini is his runes partner, Davis is hot, and you have to be there because of the deal."

"Your inviting Tracey because she is just hot?" Daphne asked incredulously.

"Hey, until her contract is signed, I can try." Draco said, putting his hands behind his head casually.

"Whatever, it's a deal, when exactly is the Cup?"

"Next Tuesday morning till Wednesday night, we'll be watching the semi-finals and then the finals; Bulgaria vs. Canada and Ireland vs. Japan. Oh, and will be in a top box, with the Minister himself!" Malfoy was now out of his kindness mode and into his default arrogance.

"Sounds good, but how will we pick up Peverell?"

"I'll have to owl him first and then he'll simply floo here… I could probably even persuade him to stay the rest of the summer with me… seeing as Gregory and Vincent are gone… but then…" Malfoy trailed off in thought, while Daphne inwardly cheered and deflated. On one hand Peverell would be much more accessible and on the other she would have to spend more time with Malfoy than she would have originally liked. Hopefully it would be worth it.

"Alright, well, you do that… Oh! Could you make sure to have your father go through my Lord and not through me, my Lord prefers it that way." Draco nodded idly still deep in thought, she knew he got the message though. "Well, owl me later, Malfoy, and thank you for your deal."

"No, problem… Oh, hey, could you owl me a copy of your runes notes?"

"… Why… never mind, sure, I'll do it when I get home." He nodded and then walked her to the floo and with little fanfare she was back at Greengrass Manor without her father knowing she had ever left. She made her way towards her room and where she set a copy-quill to make a second copy of her runes notes for Malfoy before flopping herself on her bed. Unfortunately, she forgot to lock her door before doing so…

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 **H** arry's gait was steadfast, confident, and utterly reticent as he strode over the cobblestone streets of Godric's Hollow, wrapped securely in his sole Heirloom, Ignotus' Cloak. Seen by no one, heard by no one, and unknown by all that passed him by. Ignotus' cloak assured this, but the cloak of night aided him in his endeavour also. Each step took him deeper into the vile village; a village firmly oriented to the Light and inhabited by both muggles and blood-traitors alike. The ebony haired boy **(4)** snorted at the very thought – the Light constantly idolized this filthy village as some sort of magical-muggle utopia, free of prejudice and bound by love. Pathetic.

What of the Statute of Secrecy? Did the Light honestly delude themselves in believing that muggles and magicals could live together in harmony? Should the Statute ever falter, only two scenarios would follow; witch burnings or _muggle_ burnings. Harry, despite being a staunch believer that 'Magic is Might', knew the incredible dangers that nearly 6 billion muggles **(5)** and a handful of nuclear warheads could cause. Individually, magicals were mightier than muggles, but they were also vastly outnumbered. Indeed, for the 6 billion muggles that plagued the earth only 1 billion magicals stood in opposition, odds that even the might of magic may not be able to overcome. Even worse, the muggles bred like Weasleys while the average magical struggled to produce a single heir (i.e. low fertility rate)...

Hence the necessity of the Statute.

Shaking himself of the foreboding thoughts, Harry ignored the muggles and blood-traitors that passed him by, choosing instead to focus on his destination; St. Jerome's Church. Harry couldn't help but sneer upon arrival; how could his father's corpse tolerate being buried in not only a muggle cemetery, but also a _Christian_ cemetery. He couldn't even decide which was worse. Curse Dumbledore and his Light ideology, burying a wizard amongst muggle Christians of the past that would have happily burned him alive had his father not already been dead.

Shaking his head once more to banish the thoughts, Harry began traversing the graveyard, searching out his father's current resting place. The search took longer than he intended, as there were multiple Peverell and Potter relatives' graves he had to deal with along the way, but he got to his father's eventually:

IN LOVING MEMORY

OF

JAMES POTTER * LILY POTTER

BORN

27TH MARCH 1960 * 30TH JANUARY 1960

DIED

31ST OCTOBER 1981 * 31ST OCTOBER 1981

THE LAST ENEMY TO BE DESTROYED IS DEATH

Harry sneered at the gravestone, not for its plebeian, muggle simplicity, but for the inscription beneath. _A biblical passage, really? Why not just quote the part of the bible that condemned witchcraft and wizardry while you were at it,_ _Dumbledore_ , Harry grumbled internally. Taking a deep breath, Harry began chanting the long Latin charm and wand movements he had memorized for this occasion, preforming it for the umpteenth time since entering the damned cemetery. Slowly but surely tiny particles of ash began to rise, falling seamlessly into one of the many urns he had brought with him – the one specifically meant for his father.

It was a simple urn as he had very little money at this time, but it would do until he could give his father and ancestors a proper magical burial. When the ash finally stopped rising from the grave, Harry gave the urn a swift flick of his wand and wiped a single drop of blood across its sealed surface. He took a moment to thank the gods that his father had, at the very least, been cremated as per wizarding tradition... had he not, well, this little outing would have been much messier. Minuscule runes glowed red simultaneously, indicating that the blood magic had taken affect. Nodding to himself in a satisfied fashion, Harry looked back down on the tombstone and thought for a moment before waving his wand in silent feat of transfiguration.

IN MEMORY

OF

LILY EVANS

BORN

30TH JANUARY 1960

DIED

31ST OCTOBER 1981

Harry didn't bother replacing the foul biblical passage, instead he simply transfigured an engraved image of a lily-flower; not even Evans' grave deserved to be defiled by Christianity. Nodding once more to himself, Harry turned sharply on his heel, ensuring that there were no more relatives to be rescued from this unholy ground. He was pleased to find no more gravestones of interest to him, his father's having been the last, being tucked away far into the back corner of the overcrowded cemetery where corpses were probably stacked on top of each other with how little space there was between the gravestones.

As silently as he had come, Harry left the cemetery – no one the wiser. He traversed Godric's Hollow with quiet ease despite the fact that he had not been to the village since his infancy. He headed towards the outskirts of the village, ignoring the empty, overgrown plot of land where a charred cottage stood 13 years ago as he went. Once he arrived at the fields and asphalt road that met the edge of the town he carefully removed his cloak before donning a discreet black one in its stead, pulling up the hood to cover his face. With little fanfare Harry held out his wand and the Knight Bus snapped into existence with a deafening crack, its purple three-levelled magnitude looming over him.

"All aboard!" Exclaimed the drunken Bus Conductor whom Harry had never bothered to learn the name of, "Welcome all and one to the one, the only, the…" Harry cut him off by shoving fifteen sickles in the intoxicated man's face.

"You may keep the four extra sickles for yourself. Little Whinging, Surrey, please", not waiting for a response, Harry made his way to the back of the empty bus – his stride not even wavering when the bus snapped into motion, causing the beds within to clamour and smash against one another. It only took about 15 minutes for them to reach Surrey County and another 5 minutes for them to reach the unfortunate muggle town that he dwelled in. He was at the bus doors before they even squeaked open and was just as quick to jump off.

He was quick to return to Privet Drive, once again unseen, unheard. He weaved his way through the identical muggle hovels, their only distinguishing traits being the numbers that marked them. 1, 2, 3, and, the most unfortunate, number 4. Here lay the prison of his upbringing, the container of his dastardly relatives. He went in through the back window that connected to the laundry room, knowing that it was the sole entrance to the house without locks. Mr. Dursley knew of the lack of a lock on this particular window, but thought nothing of it as the window was far too thin… for him to squeeze through, but not Harry's slight frame.

Once within the home, Harry silently made his way to the cooler wherein he grabbed a few pieces of fruit and a couple slices of whole wheat bread that Mrs. Dursley continued to buy for Dursley Junior's 'diet'. Unbeknownst to her, Junior never touched the healthy morsels of food, allowing Harry to eat them with little problem. If Junior knew of his nightly meals, he didn't mention it to his parents, probably so he himself wouldn't have to eat the vile broccoli his mother would purchase without fail. It was a win-win situation for the both of them. Well, that is until 'Duddikins' succumbed to some obesity related ailment, then it would be a win-win for Harry and a win-lose for 'Dudders'.

Once full of a nutritious snack, Harry crept up the stairs, passing his old cupboard with festering resentment. Always in the back of his mind this resentment festered, his desire for vengeance buried deep within the metaphorical cupboard of his mind, ever darkening. Dwelling on it now, however, did very little for him. He was powerless to the muggles until he came of age, so for now he would simply fester. He skipped the third, seventh, and eleventh creaky steps of the staircase with practiced ease, easily stepping over them with his long, gangly legs. Junior's second bedroom was at the end of the hall across from the guest bedroom that rarely held any guests since Harry had preformed his favourite feat of accidental magic yet, which involved Mr. Dursley's deplorable sister finding herself more canine than human. The plastic surgery that followed only helped the woman slightly, Harry would always be happy to know that her cheeks resembled a bulldog more than anything; the puppy-drowner deserved it.

The slight creak of the door upon opening couldn't be helped, but it wasn't loud enough to break the din of Mr. Dursley's thunderous snores or Junior's heavy breathing. It was, however, enough to awaken Romulus.

Romulus was his grim familiar whom he had rescued in the forbidden forest towards the end of his third year. Usually, grims were very antisocial and unlikely to accept a wizard as their owner, but Romulus had been a special case. Harry had, unintentionally, saved the beast's life when he stumbled upon the wolf-like creature chocking on the remains of a rat. The grim had apparently been grateful to him, as it had yet to leave his side since the incident. Harry didn't mind much, especially when he discovered the rat to be Weasley's familiar.

Bright patronus-silver eyes snapped to attention at Harry's entrance, immediately coming to Harry's side with a delighted wag to its tale. At least the grim had the sense of mind to be silent, if it hadn't Mr. Dursley would have surely killed it as he had Harry's first familiar, an owl named Hedwig. "Romulus, calm down, I wasn't even gone long", he whispered in exasperation but knelt down regardless to accept the saliva drenched tongue-kisses. He had grown fond of the beast, he noted as he carted his hand through the grim's thick onyx-black fur. Romulus' fur was as soft as satin now, no longer peppered with knots, matted with dirt, nor infested with fleas. It seemed that the potion regime Harry had forced upon the mutt seemed to be doing wonders for the canine's health…

A sudden bombardment of impatient _taps_ brought the teenager out of his thoughts; looking towards the sound Harry found three owls woefully glaring at him through the window. He gestured his hands in a calming manor, hoping the tapping wouldn't awaken Mr. Dursley. Opening the window delicately, Harry had to carefully maneuver his hands through the ever-present bars in order to accept the letters, a fact that did not please the owls in the slightest. Harry opened the familiar emerald script of McGonagall's letter first:

 ** _Merry Meet_ (6) _Mr. Peverell,_**

 ** _After consulting Headmaster Dumbledore as well as the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, the Board of Governors has approved your request in having your grim familiar accompany you to Hogwarts this coming year, 1994-1995. It should be noted that this privilege will be reviewed each coming year until your graduation. Be warned that should any harm befall your fellow students or your fellow students' familiars, said approval will be withdrawn immediately._**

 ** _So Mote It Be,_**

 ** _Minerva of House McGonagall_**

A rare smile broke across his face, happy to know that he would not have to abandon the clingy Romulus for the school year. Seeming interested in what had made his surly human familiar smile, Romulus pawed at Harry arm until Harry lowered the letter for him to look at. After a moment of staring at the parchment, Romulus let out a happy bark, which Harry had to nervously hush as not to awaken the muggles. Romulus, being the exceptionally sentient and intelligent magical creature he was, quieted but the wag to his tail was full force. Harry had to wonder at this though, _could Romuls understand human tongue and writings, were grims truly this intelligent?_ It baffled the mind; Harry would have to write a text about the misunderstood and underestimated creatures one day.

While Romulus basked in his own blissful world, Harry moved to open the second letter, which also had the Hogwarts coat of arms, but was addressed to him in Snape's thick, black, spidery scrawl:

 ** _Merry Meet Mr. Peverell,_**

 _ **Attached to this letter are your cumulative results for the academic year of 1993-1994.** _

**_Merry Part,_**

 ** _Severus Snape of House Prince_**

Harry shuffled through the parchment to find his results:

 _ **HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY**_

 _ **STUDENT REPORT FOR SCHOOL YEAR 1993-1994**_

 _ **Student:**_ _Peverell, Harry_

 _ **Class:**_ _1991-1998_

 _ **Student #:**_ _07213_

 _ **Hogwarts House:**_ _Slytherin_

 _ **Head of House**_ _: Snape, Severus_

 _ **Year 1993-1994 Class Rank:**_ _9th_

 _ **Cumulative Class Rank:**_ _10th_

 _ **Cumulative Core Grade Report:**_

 _ **Astronomy (Prof. A.R. Sinistra):**_ _E-_

 _ **Charms (Prof. F.F. Flitwick):**_ _O-_

 _ **Defense Against the Dark Arts (Prof. R.J. Lupin):**_ _O+_

 _ **Herbology (Prof. P.L. Sprout):**_ _E+_

 _ **History of Magic (Prof. C.T. Binns):**_ _E-_

 _ **Potions (Prof. S.T. Snape):**_ _E+_

 _ **Transfiguration (Prof. M.J. McGonagall):**_ _O-_

 _ **Cumulative Elective Grade Report:**_

 _ **Arithmancy (Prof. S.K. Vector):**_ _E_

 _ **Study of Ancient Runes (Prof. B.N. Babbling):**_ _E_

 _ **Cumulative Extra-Curricular Report:**_

 _ **Ancient Studies (Prof. C.T. Binns):**_ _Pass_

 _ **Magical Theory (Prof. F.F. Flitwick):**_ _Pass_

 _ **GRADING**_ _:_

 _ **Pass grades: Outstanding (O), Exceeds Expectations (E), and Acceptable (A)**_

 _ **Fail grades: Poor (P), Dreadful (D), and Troll (T)**_

 _ **Incoming 4**_ _ **th**_ _ **Year Book List for year 1994-1995:**_

 _ **Charms:**_ _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 4 by Miranda H. Goshawk_

 _ **Transfiguration**_ _: Mutations and Transformations by Proteus N.U. Morph_

 _ **Potions**_ _: Beyond the Cauldron by Marie P. Curie_

 _ **Muggle Studies:**_ _Magical to Mundane by Paul V. Sequester_

 _ **Arithmancy:**_ _Periodical Numerology by Octavian X.V. Trigg_

 _ **Herbology**_ _: Friends of Fungi & Flora by Polyanthus J. Longbottom_

 _ **Defense Against the Dark Arts:**_ _Dangers and Defense by Wilhelm N.K. Rosenstein_

 _ **Study of Ancient Runes:**_ _Runes: Volume IV by Thora R.N. Runor_

 _ **History of Magic**_ _: A Magical Antiquity by Antigonus L. Clius_

 _ **Astronomy:**_ _Zodiactic Constellations and More by Urania A.P. Nyxie_

 _ **Care of Magical Creatures:**_ _Creepy Creatures by Minos C.H. Leanderson_

 _ **Divination:**_ _Destiny and Divination by Apolline C.D. Troy_

Harry hummed thoughtfully as he examined his results, knowing he'd have to be more careful in the future. He had, unintentionally gotten three Os this last year, one of which was an O+. Granted, how was he supposed to plan for Lupin's obstacle course, which had caught him completely by surprise? Transfiguration and Charms must have been borderline grades that McGonagall and Flitwick probably pushed up since he had been sure he would have scored E+ in both their classes but had received the next score up of O- instead.

He supposed his goal of straight Es was a bit ambitious and much harder to achieve as the years progressed, especially when he had to deal with a new Defense professor each passing year and guestimate the class distribution between Su Li, the top of the class, and Gregory Goyle, the bottom. It was a pretty big bell curve that he had to deal with, so he shouldn't be too hard on himself. However, if he didn't rank at least 14th this coming year he would remain within the top 10, which led to much unwanted attention. Letting out an explosive sigh, Harry lowered the results to Romulus' curious paw, which had been nudging him impatiently for the last five minutes.

Maybe he could help along another student, such as Malfoy or Bones who hovered just outside of the top ten… as long as all ten spots were filled, it would be impossible for him to make the cut. Li, Patil, Granger, Goldstein, Nott, Macmillan, Cornfoot, Greengrass, Brocklehurst, and himself, for now, were the individuals who made up the top 10 of his year. If he could push up Malfoy or Bones, he'd automatically fall to 11th without having to lower his own standards and modify his study schedule, essays, and so forth…

Sequestering the thoughts for a later date, Harry moved on to the final letter which he was surprised to find was sealed with the Malfoy crest, an obnoxiously opulent abraxan… well, he supposed he couldn't really talk, seeing as the threstral, the Peverell crest, was sort of like a dead abraxan… at least his wasn't adorned with a crown though. Breaking the seal, Harry began to curiously scan the letter that Malfoy had sent his way:

 ** _Merry Meet Heir Peverell,_**

 ** _It is with great pleasure and delight that I, Heir Draco of House Malfoy, extend my invitation to you in hopes that you would be willing to join our classmates and I at the Quidditch World Cup this summer for the semi-finals and finals. (It's the day after tomorrow – I forgot to send this invite sooner, my apologies. Please send your confirmation as soon as possible (like before six this evening – sorry again)._**

 ** _Merry Part,_**

 ** _Heir Draco of House Malfoy_**

In all honesty the letter shocked him, but outwardly all he did was arch his eyebrow with iron control. The Malfoys would no doubt buy the best seats in the top boxes and for them to pay for _any_ of Malfoy's year mates was a bit stunning – Harry had known Malfoy was rich and spoiled but this was a bit ridiculous. Harry supposed he shouldn't be too surprised though, considering Malfoy bought his way on the team second year - usurping Harry's rightful place as seeker. Chaser wasn't too bad though and it gave him a small connection to his father, whom had also been a chaser. He shook his head and tried to think of why _he_ was even invited – it made little sense to pay so much money for him when Malfoy and he had a polite relationship rather than a friendly one. Had Malfoy's father put him up to the invitation so he could get at Harry? No, not only did Lord Malfoy have no reason to search him out but it also wasn't sensible considering that they were going to be in a very public, photographed, and patrolled area… that didn't leave many options as to why.

Did Malfoy want something from him and this was Malfoy's way of buttering him up? That could be probable, but Harry had little to offer Malfoy that his parents wouldn't give him. Maybe he just had an extra ticket – a cancelation at the last moment from one of his friends leaving Malfoy with a free ticket and nothing to do with it… that would explain the late invite. He smiled at that, it was so like Malfoy to do something like this and then a year from now request a favor for it – he chuckled at the thought, but decided to accept anyway; he hated being with the muggles and if the World Cup got him out of the house for a couple days then so be it.

Moving over to his desk from the window he had just been reading at after he had taken the letter from Malfoy's owl, which was currently perched on the window ledge impatiently waiting for his reply. When he got to his desk he pulled out some simple black ink and his favored fountain pen before carefully penning his reply in his thin, circular cursive style:

 ** _Merry Meet Heir Draco of House Malfoy,_**

 ** _It is with great gratitude that I accept my invitation to the Quidditch World Cup that you have so generously offered me. I will arrive to your manor by floo the day after tomorrow. I look forward to seeing you soon._**

 ** _Merry Part,_**

 ** _Heir Harry of House Peverell_**

Once done, he examined the letter with a critical eye, looking for even the slightest mistake. Finding none and deeming his penmanship flawless, he carefully folded the parchment into a thick envelope of pure white before he took a stamp from his desk drawer that was magically filled with neutral gray wax. A firm hand drove the stamp to the parchment, leaving the Peverell crest of a simple threstral standing proud, its skeletal wings spread wide, and each vertebrae of its spine visible. While not as notable as the Malfoy's royal blue and crowned abraxan, Harry liked to think that the Peverell crest had its own unique beauty. Spurred on by another impatient tap from Malfoy's owl, he went to the window and handed the bird its parcel through the bars, which it took after an angry nip to one of Harry's fingers.

"Looks like we'll be getting out of here sooner than expected, Romulus", Harry sighed as the grim in question raised its eyes in interest. Harry didn't blame the poor thing, at least Harry could sneak out in the dark of night, and under his cloak – Romulus, on the other hand, was forced to hide under Harry's mattress for the majority of the day. Harry made his way over to the opposite side of the room, over to his serpent-hide trunk, marked as his by a silver plaque with the Peverell crest engraved upon it. It was one of his very few possessions in this world; bought with what little money his father had left him.

Harry couldn't help but feel bitter at the thought. His relationship with his deceased father was strained to say the least; on one hand, Harry adored the _idea_ of him, the idea of this handsome, elegant, strong, father figure whom had been one of the best transfiguration masters Hogwarts had ever produced. Yet, on the other hand, Harry was disenchanted with the reality of his father's legacy.

Not only had his father married down the social latter, tainting the purity of the Potter name, but he had also made innumerable enemies within the pureblood circles due to his part in the war effort. So could Harry really be blamed for hiding his heritage? Not only had his father made him a half-blood by marrying Evans, but he had also left his sole heir an orphan to be raised by abusive muggle relations. Indeed, Harry wanted to idolize his father, but the reality of the matter was that his father was an incredibly flawed man who fell head over heels to Light propaganda.

While the Potter name was tainted, burdened with war memories, and loathed by many, the Peverell name was a saving grace. Iolanthe Peverell **(7)** , granddaughter of Ignotus, had married Hardwin of House Potter. With Antioch murdered, Cadmus having committed suicide, and Iolanthe being Ignotus' sole heir, Harry was indeed a Peverell, the very last. His claim to House Peverell was perfectly legitimate, he knew as he twisted the Peverell heir ring around his left thumb. Hundreds of years had passed since House Peverell was absorbed into House Potter, allowing the memory of said absorption to fade into the murky backwaters of history.

Harry had the extraordinary opportunity to shape House Peverell in his image, create his ideal family. No enemies, no blood feuds, no debts, and no biases could taint him with the Peverell name acting as his shield, or, more appropriately, as a protective cloak. Neither the Light nor the Dark factions had any interactions with or conceptions of House Peverell, let alone bad blood. It was the best of both worlds, really – everyone assumed him to be pureblood because of his name and the fact that he looked and acted the part, but no one could claim him to be bigoted or prejudice as he was _always_ unfailingly polite, even in the face of Granger's shrillness. The downside to the acting, however, was the expense.

Having donated nearly the entirety of the Potter fortune to the Order of the Phoenix, James Potter had only left a handful of galleons for his sole heir's wellbeing once the cost of Hogwarts' tuition was deducted from Harry's trust vault. This put Harry in the awkward position of feigning a proper pureblood lineage with little to no funds to do so. His solution was simple yet clever, it's what put him in Slytherin to begin with.

His trunk was used, but he had carefully repaired, enchanted, and charmed it himself, right down to the refurbished serpent-hide, which resembled dragon-hide greatly when regularly polished. Within the trunk lay his few, but well cared for possessions. Using the small nip that Malfoy's owl gave him, he wiped his blood across the lock, which glowed red before snapping open. Opening his simple black satchel, Harry carefully locked the many urns into the trunks lowest and most secure compartment, which had more bloodlocks among other protective enchantments. Once done, Harry gazed down at the sixty-three urns he had collected that night, each one containing the ashes of his ancestors, most important of them all being Antioch, Cadmus, and Ignotus.

He wondered idly how long it would take for someone to notice the sixty-three graves missing or altered… he guessed a long time. Godric's Hollow had become increasingly saturated with muggles over the years and most wizarding families from the area, Dumbledore and his own included, had left at some point or other. He was glad that at least a few blood-traitors remained though; otherwise he wouldn't have been able to get away with utilizing magic in the area. Besides, who went to visit Timotheus Peverell III or Yolanda Potter on any regular basis? He was their only living descendant, the only one that cared for their memory outside of the bowels of history.

Nodding to himself in assurance, he locked up the compartment for a later date wherein he could build a proper Peverell Manor with its own crypt for his ancestors' and his own final resting place. Before locking the rest of the trunk up, he took out a pair of silken robes and cloak for the World Cup. Unlike with his trunk and other possessions, Harry couldn't tailor his own garbs, no matter how much he tried. Instead, he made due by buying high quality clothing in limited amounts and taking good care of them. This worked well for the most part, with exception to his growth spurts which required him to have his robes and cloaks lengthened regularly – it was a hassle, but cheaper than buying an entirely new wardrobe each time he gained an inch.

He laid out a neutral grey robe with a brown trim cut in a modern style, which resembled the muggle jodhpuri to an extent. The robe bore the Peverell crest on the left-breast, right over his heart, and was designed using the Peverell colors: grey and brown. For the cloak, he would wear water-resistant coffee-brown leather. While admittedly not the most flamboyant colors, the threstral wasn't known for resembling a peacock after all, Harry took solace in the fact that he was the only House with said color scheme. Indeed, Harry couldn't even count how many Houses had some shade or combination of blue, red, and green as their colors – in this regards, Harry was content to have grey and brown, for the sole fact that it made him unique.

Foot-ware was, and always would be, the worse. It felt as if he had to buy a new pair of boots every fortnight with the way his feet grew and unlike his clothing they couldn't be lengthened or charmed to grow with him. His current pair was already tight and would need to be replaced before school began, much to his own displeasure. He knew his father had been tall according to St. Mungo's records, but really, did one have to have big feet to be tall?! It almost made him want to stop taking his nutrition and growth potions, but in the end his vain side won out. He wanted to be tall like any other boy and he needed the potions to counteract the Dursely's treatment of him to do so. In the end, foot-ware expenses and vile potions seemed to be his fate for the foreseeable future.

With his clothing laid out for the coming trip, Harry went around the room packing up whatever he had taken out over the weeks he had been in Surrey, not planning on coming back once he left. Multiple summer essays, completed with predicted scores of E, were stored away along with the Slytherin green comforter he had taken from the dorms after first year (the house-elves hadn't seemed to mind). All the while, Romulus **(8)** trotted along at his heel, occasionally coaxing him to play, only to be brushed off by Harry in favour of packing.

The final possession of his to pack was his beloved broom, a Yajirushi 777; it wasn't the newest model, or the fastest, but it was reliable and durable. He had researched the best brooms for chasers thoroughly and had ordered his pride and joy all the way from Japan, waiting patiently for three months for it to arrive. Most of all, it was Harry's through and through as he had bought the broom with money he earned from selling various potions around Hogwarts, which included everything from Acne Cures to Menstrual Regulators – he had a pretty wide selection. He also sold a few other contrabands under the table, if you knew how to ask; hey, he had to save up money some how, didn't he? _And_ , in his defence, his products weren't harmful or even experimental, unlike twin gingers in Gryffindor.

Picking up the broom, he examined its freshly polished, cherry wood surface along with the golden kanji that graced its hilt, declaring it a genuine Yajirushi creation. The twigs were all very smooth and curved softly to allow just as smooth maneuverability when flying, a necessity as a chaser. The twigs did a damned good job too, if Slytherin's winning was anything to go by. Just as Diggory was the best seeker, Davies the best keeper, the Weasley twins the best beaters, Harry was, undeniably, the best chaser at Hogwarts – a blessing for the Slytherin team as Flint and Yaxley, his fellow chasers, weren't that reliable. In fact, if it wasn't for Harry's talent and Malfoy's generous donation (Harry had only joined the team last year so he hadn't gotten the Nimbus 2001 second year) Slytherin wouldn't have a chance. He placed his beloved gently in its case before finally locking up his trunk, the bloodlocks activating immediately upon closing.

Glancing around the room one more time, Harry turned to Romulus who was vainly attempting to shake of his brown collar that also bore the Peverell crest, marking the grim as Heir Peverell's familiar. He felt for the beast, he wouldn't want to wear a collar either, but Amos Diggory, the Director of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, had insisted upon it. In addition, the collar had flea and worm repelling charms. "Romulus", he called the canine to attention, "what would you say if we left a day early and headed to the Leakey Cauldron before the World Cup begins?" The grim gave another happy bark, which Harry instantly hushed, but Harry didn't begrudge the noise – he always wanted to whoop with joy when leaving the filthy muggles.

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 **AN : Hello, Readers, I hope you enjoyed. I've rewritten, updated, and reposted this story before (with collaboration of the writer ****Septima Holen** **– check my profile for more detail). I'm a bit apprehensive, but I want to do this right and hope I have your support in doing so.**

 **In regards to some of the changes, the reemergence of House Peverell is a major one. This will come to play in Harry's place in the Dark faction and I hope I explained this enough throughout this chapter (mostly through Harry's POV). I will try to continue to explain this in more detail as the plot progresses.**

 **In the original post, Sirius had died with Harry's parents, but I've decided to allow him to feign being Harry's familiar for now – he will become a major part of the plot later on – Harry named him Romulus, which will come in later when Remus renters the plot. It should be noted that Remus never knew Harry had adopted a grim familiar as Sirius had been found by Harry later in the year and had been hidden in the Slytherin dormitory until Harry could A) Heal the grim & B) Get the grim registered and approved as according to the Hogwart's acceptance letters only owls, cats, and toads are usually allowed. **

**The next change would be Daphne's status as a half-breed, which had actually been planned for the original work but would have only been discovered later on. In the rewrite I decided to introduce the concept immediately. The specific breed of her mother will be revealed later on. Daphne's heritage will later play a major role in the plot.**

 **(1)** _ **Homo magicus**_ **is simply the species of magical humans – muggles and wizards/witches are of the same species, but magicals will claim they aren't – this term is of my own creation and is simply a play on** _ **Homo sapiens.**_ **Its usage is purely for magicals to distance themselves from muggles by claiming to be of a divergent, superior species.**

 **(2) Harry 's wand (11' Oak, Cetus Scale; Gregorovitch Creation), has very detailed importance. First of all, Neville's wand (11' Holly, Phoenix feather; Ollivander creation) is the complete opposite to Harry's, the second child of prophecy. Gregorovitch (Dark wandmaker) vs. Ollivander (Light wandmaker), Cetus Scale (water) vs. Phoenix Feather (fire), Oak vs. Holly (opposite Kings of the year according to Celtic calendars)**

 **(3) Mabon, Samhain, Yule, Imbolc, Ostara, Beltane, Litha, and Lughnasadh, are all holidays of the Celtic Year, usually falling on Solstices and Equinoxes. These holidays will be celebrated within pureblood circles and will be combined with the magical world's major religion, Hellenism (think Druidism and Greek Mythology)**

 **(4) Harry's appearance will be detailed later on, specifically in chapter II – I had a lot to cover in the first chapter and felt that a detailed description of Harry's appearance wouldn't quite fit in this chapter.**

 **(5) According to the World Bank and the United Nations, the global population as of 1994 was 5.625 billion (as of 2016, it is 7.442 billion) - I rounded up to 6 for convenience within the story. Furthermore, the 1 billion magical are an edition of my own creation as I doubt that magicals were included in any muggle censuses after all.**

 **(6) "Merry Meet, Merry Part, So Mote It Be, Blessings to Thee, Blessed Be, Brightest Blessings, etc." are pagan greetings that will be utilized throughout this work in order to define pureblood/magical culture from that of the muggle. Within my story paganism is prominent within the magical world in contrast to Christianity in the muggle world. I think it reasonable to assume that the witch burnings would have disenchanted most magicals with the church. The phrase "Going to circle" will be used similarly to "going to church". These phrases are apparently used within pagan/wiccan social circles today. I've seen the phrases "Merry Meet" and "Merry Part" utilized by the author '** **BaconandEggs** **' in their series "Harry Potter in the Claw of the Raven" on Archive of Our Own (Highly recommended fanfiction for those who enjoy pureblood culture & politics). I have also seen the phrase "So Mote It Be" in numerous other fanfictions.**

 **(7) The information regarding Iolanthe Peverell was gathered from Harry Potter Wikia, she was apparently a very real individual within the Harry Potter universe. Many of Harry's other ancestors will be created and utilized for my own purposes, such as Timotheus Peverell III and Yolanda Potter.**

 **(8) Harry named his 'familiar' Romulus - reference to the myth of the wolf raised brothers, Romulus & Remus. In the original plot Sirius was killed off before Harry was born, but within the rewrite he is obviously very much alive, was in Azkaban, escaped, etc.. more will be explained later on when Sirius reveals himself to Harry.**

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 **Reviews, corrections, and suggestions are welcomed! Hope you enjoyed (and please, constructive criticism)!**


	2. Quidditch Cup (P1)

**MAGIC IS MIGHT: PUREBLOOD PRIDE AND MUGGLEBORN PREJUDICE**

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 **Short Summary** **:** **When war breaks, it's drawn over Hadrian's Wall. Orphaned and raised by bigoted muggle relations, Harry embraced the Magical World and soon loathes anything and everything muggle. Clinging to his pureblood heritage, Harry is sorted into Slytherin and endeavours to remain unknown, but finds himself at the centre of a Civil War.** **AU, Civil War, Pureblood Culture, Slytherin HP, Non-BWL, Dark, Weasley Bashing, Begins 4** **th** **year.**

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 **Disclaimer** **: Harry Potter series belongs to J.K. ROWLING. Enjoy!**

 **Co-Written & Adopted from ****Septima Holen** **: Originally titled '** **Contracting** **'**

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 **Warnings** **: This work is rated M for future violence (nothing explicit) and references to sibling abuse (nothing explicit). There will be no explicit/graphic sexual or violent scenes, but they will be mentioned and referenced to throughout this work. Transgender-ism, gender fluidity, homosexuality, etc. will be present within this work, if you don't like this, don't read.**

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 **Extended Summary** **: The Dark Lord marked his equal in Neville Longbottom, leaving the Potters to be burned alive by one fanatical Bellatrix Lestrange & crew. Orphaned, Harry is abandoned with his only living relatives, the muggle Durselys. Harry Potter never graced the halls of Hogwarts, Harry Peverell, however, did. Upon discovering his true heritage, Harry embraces pureblood culture and magical customs, hoping to escape his abusive past with muggles. He claims House Peverell as his own and endeavours to hide his true origins, instead striving for the reemergence of House Peverell. Sorted into Slytherin, Harry finds many purebloods of the darker variety that share his low views on muggles. Harry soon finds himself entrenched in pureblood politics and society, the half-breed Daphne Greengrass attempting to contract him with a betrothal all the while. When war breaks, lines are drawn, specifically over Hadrian's Wall; a Civil War begins between purebloods and blood-traitors; between Scotland and England. Harry declares his alliance to the Dark, fighting against the Light and the Boy-Who-Lived, Neville Longbottom.**

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 **A/N** **: First of all, I owe an apology to my readers not only for the long awaited update, but also for the rewrite. All the chapters have been edited to varying extents (the first three previously published). I have my reasons for the rewrite, most prominently among them being the plot and flow of the work. I apologize if some of my readers dislike the new version of events and understand if you wish to un-follow or un-favourite this fanfiction. Please, however, refrain from asking me to repost the original work, as I wasn't happy with it, hence the long awaited update. My writings are purely for my own and others' enjoyment, if you don't enjoy the rewrite, don't' continue to read it. I have written an extended summary above that will be posted with the first five chapters for those wanting a more general overview of events. My original work had been geared more towards romance, which I wasn't that committed to – the rewrite on the other hand will focus on pureblood/magical culture, politics, etc.. Please read Author's note at the end of the chapter and I hope you enjoy.**

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 **CHAPTER II – QUIDDITCH CUP (P1)**

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 **H** arry gracefully stepped through the hearth, vivid viridian flames licking at his heels. Such grace was hard won, having practiced for weeks in his second year floo traveling so that he didn't stumble out like some uncouth mudblood. Looking around, Harry examined his new surroundings – he had never actually been to Malfoy Manor and he didn't plan on making a habit of it, but Harry couldn't help but be slightly impressed by the grandeur of the place, in all its gothic and garish glory. The old castle must have dated back to the mid 1200s, and if his memory served him well then that was around the time the Malfoy family had crossed the channel from France into England, give or take a century. The grandeur wasn't surprising either; the Malfoys were _notorious_ for being one of the wealthiest Houses, easily matching the royalty in terms of liquid wealth and lavishness.

But really, was it necessary to flaunt it so much?

Harry had arrived via floo, as he had said in his letter. He was without dear Romulus, knowing it inappropriate to bring his familiar to such an event. At least the grim could relax at the Leakey Cauldron rather than how he had to remain constantly hidden and silent at Privet Drive. Malfoy, his familial white hair slicked back, swaggered into the hall with little care in the world.

"Merry meet, Heir Malfoy", Harry nodded gratefully for the invitation, crossing his arms elegantly as he did so in a proper pureblood greeting. He made sure to present his heir ring while doing so; a black opal wound in goblin-silver Celtic knots. Most heir rings from Ancient Houses, such as Black and Peverell, were constructed with elaborate blood magic and enchantments that only allowed the immediate heir access and provided ample amount of protection, preventing most attempts of familicide or assassination. Harry's ring was no different; in fact, the Peverell heir ring had more blood magic than usual as the specific magical discipline was a known strength of House Peverell. More modern Houses, such as Weasley and Parkinson, lacked such protections as they either didn't have a ring at all or preferred not to use blood magic due to its perceived darkness.

"Merry meet, Heir Peverell", Malfoy mimicked his movements and Harry caught sight of the Malfoy heir ring on the shorter and slighter boy's thumb; a dark sapphire gem encased in rose-gold vines of a specific array indicating House Malfoy. It was much more French in design than those of the British Iles, but that was to be expected seeing as the Malfoy hailed from France. With introductions completed, Malfoy led him to the lounge.

As they entered the opulent room, Harry thought on his own future manor. It would be called Peverell Manor, of course, but its location and construction had yet to be decided. Such developments were far into the future, but that didn't stop Harry fantasizing about possibilities. His manor wouldn't be as garish as Malfoy's, he and the Peverells before him had always favored simplicity – yet again, it would be no less elegant. He was humbled not by Malfoy Manor's opulence but instead by its immaculate history, hundreds of relatives lined the walls – all of which were the cream of the crop, the best of their respective generations.

"Malfoy, where are the others?" Harry asked curiously as he forced his eyes away from Abraxas Malfoy IV's portrait, who had barely even acknowledged the presence of the youngsters. He sat down on one of the Malfoys' loveseats awaiting an answer; he had expected himself to be the last to arrive.

"Hmm?" Malfoy looked over, no longer preoccupied with his overly embroidered and outlandishly expensive navy blue robes he had previously been fiddling with. "They all should be here soon enough, I didn't want them to be here when neither my parents or myself weren't."

"Hm, where are Lord and Lady Malfoy, then?" Harry asked as he moved over to let Malfoy sit on the loveseat with him in the spacious lounge that connected to the Malfoys' entrance hall, where the fireplaces were. Why Malfoy chose to sit right next to him when there were twenty-seven other places to sit was beyond Harry, but what use would there be in complaining?

"They are already at the Cup, socializing of course, we'll be meeting them there once Nott, Davis, and Zabini arrive, which should be any time now, hopefully Greengrass will be ready by then… She's here already by the way, just in the powder room…" Malfoy shifted awkwardly, contemplating what to say, "She's quite smitten with you, you know?"

Harry's head cocked towards him in surprise, he arched his eyebrow in question, "Really? I've barely even spoken a few words with her, let alone interacted enough for her to like me…" Of course he had had one or two girls and boys smitten with him before, so it wasn't particularly surprising, but the people who crushed on him almost always were close acquaintances at the very least. He himself had yet to be infatuated with anyone in particular, though he would readily admit that Cho Chang of Ravenclaw was a sight to behold. It was truly a pity that Diggory was smitten with her, there was simply no way that Harry could get Chang while the ridiculously perfect Hufflepuff seeker was chasing after her robe hems as she sashayed her way through the halls of Hogwarts.

Though, as he considered it, Greengrass was pretty easy on the eyes, not quite the "erotic and exotic" Chang, as many of the crasser boys referred to the raven as, but that didn't mean she was not considerably good looking herself. To be fair, Harry was no Defectless Diggory himself and was rather quite dull in the looks department in his own opinion so he really didn't have a right to judge, but that was beside the point.

"Girls are like that, love at first sight and all…" Malfoy waved his hand dismissively, looking bored and seemingly disinterested in the world around him. Harry shook his head in exasperation; Malfoy could never even _try_ to look interested in the affairs of others, except, of course, when it benefitted him. "Oh, you may have an opportunity to ask her out though, they'll be a Yule Ball this year, you know – at Hogwarts that is."

Funny, who said that he would be endeavoring to ask out anyone, particularly someone he barely knew? Harry didn't think that this conversation was as innocuous as it seemed on the surface… or really, as innocuous as Malfoy worded it to be. He wondered why and what Malfoy wanted to gain from setting him up with Greengrass, but what concerned him most at the moment was the fact that there was seemingly to be a Ball he had no knowledge of. The other matter could be looked into at a later date.

"Why would that be?" As far as Harry knew there had been no such Balls before, he couldn't be considered popular, but he was most definitely not anti-social so he saw no reason such an event like a Ball would not be mentioned, at least in passing, to him.

"I'm not going to tell you, you have to wait and see." Malfoy replied vaguely, which prompted Harry to give his year mate a deadpanned look.

"Merlin, Malfoy, you can be an obnoxious prat." Malfoy moved to make a sarcastic retort, no doubt, but was interrupted by the arrival of Zabini and Nott.

"I couldn't agree more, Peverell," The ever-sanguine Blaise Zabini said, his own outlandishly expensive robes billowing, as he walked into the lounge after arriving by floo with the ever solemn Nottdore Nott, who immediately preformed a proper greeting unlike Zabini. "Though, I would have put a couple more… descriptive words among my insult, but, alas, you have always had a dull tongue in the delicate art of defamation, Peverell." Zabini plopped himself gracefully on the adjacent loveseat, he greeted them as an after thought, "Oh, yeah, merry meet to you both."

"Defamation would imply that your insults are based on falsity, which I assure you is not the case in regards to any insult you say and or imply in regards to Malfoy, my dearest-Italian." Harry quipped back jokingly. Slytherins were always the most entertaining people to banter with and Harry felt that without them he might have been dumbed down had he been sorted into Gryffindor as the Sorting Hat had suggested. Blessings be that it had been Malfoy who had sauntered into his train compartment his first year and not some hopeless, Boy-Who-Lived worshipping Gryffindor. The constant presence of Gryffindors like Weasley and Finnegan over the years, would have surely caused him to loose a few brain cells, he appreciated the intellectual company when he could.

He really couldn't risk his intelligence being diluted by Weasllisim any further, what little he was exposed to anyway.

"Too true, my dearest-Englishmen, too true." Zabini nodded solemnly in response, though his somber agreement was betrayed by the slightest of devilish smiles gracing his aristocratic mocha features as he stretched out lazily like a spoiled kneazle across from where Harry and Malfoy sat.

"You dare insult me in my own home?!" Malfoy exclaimed in false haughtiness, amusement glittering in his molten silver eyes, the only trait the pompous blonde inherited from the illustrious Black line.

Nott snorted at his friends' tact, or lack of, but joined them non-the less in the sitting area, pulling out a book titled _A Warding Foundation_ as he did so. "How has your summer been, Malfoy, Peverell?" He asked, as he flipped to the page he had left off.

"Decent, and yours, Zabini, Nott?" Harry politely returned as he sipped on some tea and butter beer that Dobby had left for them on the lounge table, along with a disgustingly large pile of various other snacks as they waited for Greengrass and Davis before they could go. He felt bad that he wouldn't be able to enjoy Dobby's feast, but knew Dobby would pack them all a large picnic basket for the Cup – really, Dobby was too good to the Malfoys, it was his personal opinion that the little elf deserved better… maybe he could buy the elf off Malfoy once Malfoy became Lord Malfoy…

"It was quite a bore, my father has been stuffing my head with all the necessities for my future lordship. I know he's old, but really, I doubt he'll be perishing any time soon so why should I know how to calculate the ward frequency of the manor when I'm only fourteen and he still has a good century left to live?" Nott complained and the boys nodded their agreement, though Harry was secretly envious – he would have to learn such things on his own when the time came.

"I had a fantabulous summer, if you must know," Zabini drawled, "though my mother's newest husband put a slight damper on it, nothing substantial, very much like a pesky fly that I just couldn't bring myself to swat in the moment because I was too comfortable and felt the effort a waste."

"How unfortunate for you." Nott noted dully, Zabini only nodded his head in agreement, more focused on his fresh butter beer than anything else.

"Well I had a splendid summer unlike you dunderheads", Malfoy declared - his superior smirk quite infuriating to those who did not know him well. "My father brought me with him to France in the beginning to meet some of the higher ups there, but the highlights really were that my mother and I have been jumping all over the globe for the World Cup. You pitiful fools should have seen the game between the Czech Republic and Slovakia, truly brutal that."

"Not as bad as Scotland and England from what I heard, both are out of the running since they lost so many members in that single game, ended up in a tie for all the wasted effort. If things keep going as they are I wouldn't be surprised if there's a civil war here soon." Zabini pointed out quite accurately and far too casually, not particularly caring about his host country's national security.

A heavy and awkward silence permeated the room immediately after the foreigner's comment, since it was uncomfortably true to the Brits before him. The whole thing was quite troublesome, especially when two different countries would be warring under the single muggle nation of Britain with Wales somewhere wedged in-between. Harry didn't even want to consider where Ireland's cards would fall. It was still very much a taboo topic to bring up. You would literally be wacked with a ruler or hexed by professors just for mentioning it. The last war may have ended thirteen years prior, but the resentment it left still festered within British society and was slowly tearing magical Britain in two. Not that the whole scenario was a surprise, magical Scotland hadn't ever been supportive of uniting with England in the 1700s, but the English wizards had been shrewd and capitalized on the muggle politics of the time to bring the Scots under their control.

The matter of blood only polarized what had once been a simple matter of nationality. The pureblood and blood-traitor divide in British society was becoming increasingly more pronounced as more purebloods gravitated around Hogwarts and Hogsmead (the _only_ purely magical village) in Scotland while blood-traitors and muggleborns gathered near the Ministry of Magic and London (the most diverse city) in England. The ancient rivalry was growing more with each passing day as the cultures and bigotry became more pronounced between Hadrian's Wall. Magical Britain was seriously fearing _another_ civil war if things continued to worsen, especially now that most Scotsmen were vying for independence, something the English were unlikely to permit without violence.

Ironically enough, Dumbledore held Hogwarts with just as firm a grasp as Lord Malfoy held the Ministry, despite both factions claiming the opposite side of Hadrian's Wall. Zabini obviously didn't care much for the conversational taboo, or more likely, thought it would be entertaining to bring it up as indicated by his almost maniacally darting eyes between the Brits, clearly waiting for a fight of some sort.

Fortunately, a sudden clearing of a throat broke the tension, as Tracey Davis stumbled into the lounge after just arriving via floo, for her not to notice the tangible tension in the air was a vain hope. She raised her eyebrow in question at the strange and peculiarly stiff atmosphere putting a damper on what should have been a very playful day of fun and games. "Am I interrupting something?" the bell like voice of Davis questioned as the boys just stared at her, unblinking. Sighing at their lack of response Davis peered around the room, "Where is Daphne then, I'll be heading home myself if she cancelled."

"No need for such extremes, Tracey." Greengrass announced as she came down the stairs from the powder room in modest mulberry robes that highlighted her snow white complexion that, unlike Harry's own, managed to look healthy even though exceptionally pale. Greengrass also gave the room a queer look at sensing the lingering mood, "Well, it seems we are all here, why don't we get going then?" she suggested, hoping to move things along and specifically addressing Malfoy.

The platinum blonde heir cleared his voice and nodded quickly, "Yes, that would be a splendid idea… the portkey should set off in an hour and it will take roughly forty-five minutes to get there…" Everyone nodded their understanding and began moving about collecting their belongings and such before following Malfoy as he weaved his way seamlessly through the gargantuan estate that was Malfoy Manor and then onwards through the grounds, walking eastward towards the English settlement of Urfolk where the portkey site was supposed to be.

As the group of teens traversed towards their destination they began to break off into cliques for idle chat and stimulating conversation. Much to Harry's own chagrin, he found himself paired with Greengrass near the back of the group while Malfoy had cornered a ruffled and vexed looking Davis in the front – Nott and Zabini were confusedly tottering along in-between the talking couples, trying to figure out what was the group's dynamics to cause such a strange set up of conversational couplets.

"So, Peverell, are you looking forward to our fourth year at Hogwarts?" Greengrass asked neutrally at his side, walking along the dirt road towards Urfolk, careful not to allow the hems of her robes to be tarnished by the splattered and sporadic puddles of mud along the way.

"Yes, actually, I think it will be a good year, I heard rumors that Mad-Eye Moody will be our defense instructor this year. Hopefully we'll finally learn something of worth." His companion's lips quirked slightly in a way that Harry found quite cute and as he thought more on it he found that he wouldn't really mind pressing his own lips to hers. The idea was quite pleasing in fact, but it startled him enough that he wondered if Malfoy had slipped some diluted amortentia into his tea during their earlier talk about the Yule Ball. He wouldn't put it past the prat to do so.

"Indeed, well, I believe any flobber worm could educate children better than Quirrell and Lockhart." She mused as she tucked a droopy onyx lock behind one of her ears, "A true pity it is that Lupin is a werewolf, I had actually grown quite fond of him and his teaching methods".

"Indeed, he was capable – he did seem quite off when I interacted with him," Harry pushed his glasses to the bridge of his nose, "Though, I must admit myself surprised by Dumbledore's risk taking – he must be running out of DADA applicants. I'm actually beginning to believe that myth about there being a curse on the position."

"You know, considering the position's history, I wouldn't doubt that the myth held some truth. It certainly wouldn't surprise _me_ if the position was cursed." She reasoned softly as she stared ahead, seemingly temporarily lost in thought. "I do hope your right about learning something this year though, my wand has barely even been used in that class. A true pity too, Ollivander said my wand, rowan and a hippocampus scale, would have a particular knack for defensive spells."

Harry raised his eyebrow at that, revealing one's wand so casually was highly unusual, "Is that what Ollivander told you, much more useful than what Gregorvitch told me." He snorted at the very peculiar memory of getting his own wand, "Told me I was a strange one and that he expected strange things from me, what ever that means. 'Eleven inches, oak, and a cetus scale for a core, very strange, indeed,' he had said. What am I to make of that, I wish there were useful books on wandlore, but I guess they're hoarded by those in the profession..." Greengrass stared at him queerly out of the corner of her eye before shrugging _. What did that mean? She was the one to reveal her wand first!_

"Who knows, Ollivander and Gregorvitch could be insane for all I care, as long as my wand's in working order I'm content to live and let live." Harry nodded in agreement, though he still would always remain slightly weary of the quirky and obsessive wand maker of Diagon.

"Your in runes with me, are you not?" He mentioned, for lack of anything else to say. If all else fails in conversation just bring up a topic of mutual involvement. Probably the only solid advice Malfoy had ever given him, not that it was particularly useful, even the dullest of children could probably figure out that tactic… well, maybe not Weasley. At that thought, Harry silently reminded himself to buy earmuffs when he went shopping for his school supplies later in the week, he didn't think that he could tolerate another year of the Weasel waxing about chess and Quidditch, a sport that the boy didn't even play very well. _They would also come in handy for Crabbe's monstrous snores that rivaled even Mr. Dursely's… they'd even be of good use for history…_

"Yes, though I tend to sit in the front row while I believe you prefer the back of the classroom. I do hope we discuss Celtic runes this year, I've become quite disenchanted with Professor Babblings lectures on the ancient properties of the Norse tongue." Yes, school subjects were always a safe topic when it came to conversations – it was a good thing that Greengrass was willing to continue along with the safer and more easily elaborated subjects. "Do you enjoy runes yourself, Peverell?"

He nodded his head in affirmation, choosing to focus his gaze ahead as they walked and talked, "It's one of my favorite classes, though not my favorite professor, but there is no doubt that Babbling knows her subject well, however, I think she is far more passionate about the subject itself than teaching it." He thought for a moment and then decided to throw a bit of bait to see if Greengrass was actually 'smitten' with him, as Malfoy had said, "Peverells have always been talented in runes and transfiguration, it would be totally reprehensible for me to fail either subject". He noted it casually, but he looked at Greengrass discreetly out of the corner of his eye to see her reaction.

If Greengrass were 'smitten' with him, as he believed Malfoy _eluded_ her to be, then she should jump at the little piece of information on his family. Harry knew he should have realized it sooner, but it wouldn't be out of the question for Greengrass to try and get a betrothal contract with House Peverell, which would make a decent alliance, in Nottry, with House Greengrass.

Greengrass' icy-blue eyes glinted with interest as she looked at him, "Very useful subjects to pursue, your family was wise to nurture such talents over the centuries. I myself am quite strong in transfiguration and decently secure in my abilities with runes." It was subtle, but there. He may have been making more out of what wasn't really there, but he thought that his intuition was right when it came to Slytherin-Speak. Greengrass' immediate interest could be passed off as simple intellectual passion, but her compliment on his family and then the latter comment on her own prowess indicated some tasteful brown-nosing on her part.

Harry nodded and turned his gaze away once more to allow himself some time to think on the matter. He knew from his readings that House Greengrass was a darker neutral family that had fled to the continent during the Blood War and to the Americas during Grindelwald's Reign, which was easily done through their antique trading business. They were known to have excelled in cursing breaking, charms, and history throughout the centuries…

"How about yourself, Greengrass, what subjects does your family focus on and what subjects do you favor?" So much for innocuous and neutral conversation…

"Oh, well, House Greengrass tends to encourage excellence in fields such as history, potions, and charms due to our antique and trading businesses. It doesn't really apply to me, however, since I'm the fourth child and the only daughter in a patriarchal House." Harry felt her eyes on him as he stared on ahead; she was probably looking for some type of reaction given the information. Too bad he wasn't going to give any, he chose instead to maintain a mask of polite interest. "As for my own favorites, I suppose runes and charms would have to be the ones I care most for, but truthfully, I do quite like astronomy."

She threw in a personal interest, probably expecting him to do the same in return. "Mmm… I suppose we all have our own likes and dislikes that would not apply to our Houses as a whole". _If she thought he was going to just open himself up to her, she had another thing coming_.

Greengrass moved to speak once more, but her first syllable was cut off by a yell, "Oi! Heir Malfoy, would you and your party be ready to portkey, your nearly five minutes late!" The person yelling appeared to be an older peppered haired man dressed in poorly assembled muggle clothing that Harry was quite certain was meant for female curves rather than the male form.

"We're actually ten minutes early, Mr. Dunbar." Malfoy griped from the front of the line of teens as they approached what appeared to be the entrance to the town of Urfolk. Harry couldn't be positive though since the sign that he assumed declared the town's name was swathed in thick layers of stringy moss of a sickeningly green color that Harry was hesitant to approach and unsure if it was safe for his health to be in close proximity it.

As he averted his eyes from the questionable organism he focused upon the two families waiting around a shiny metal pail, which he assumed was the portkey they had traveled for. The Dunbar family he was somewhat knowledgeable of, well, really, all he knew was that Fay Dunbar was a Gryffindor a year below them. Apparently, her father was quite boisterous if his incessant chatter and gesticulations with Malfoy were anything to go by as the man spoke, who looked like he would rather be doing anything but speaking to the Dunbar patriarch. As Harry looked closer at the ginger haired wife by Mr. Dunbar's side he realized that the woman was actually a man, at least biologically speaking.

So Fay Dunbar had two fathers then, he noted mentally - who knows if that information would ever be useful, Harry sure didn't know.

The other family was much younger than the Dunbars with a man and a woman probably in their early twenties by wizarding standards – they had two young children who by appearances looked to be twin boys with blonde and brunet hair respectively, the two ran around the town's sign playfully with little fear of the monstrous looking plant upon it. Ah, how youth made one feel invincible.

"All right, everybody gather round! The portkey will be heading off with or without us within the next minute!" At Mr. Dunbar's proclamation everyone began gathering around the silver pail, the young parents among them struggling to keep their children still as they waited for the portkey to activate. Harry himself was squeezed between Greengrass, who he noticed wasn't particularly trying to make space between them despite her looking quite uncomfortable with her features set in a grimace. While Davis, who he noticed was trying her damn best to get away from Malfoy on her other side, which resulted in her practically pushing Harry over as the large group muddled together in order for them all to touch the portkey.

"Three… Two…" Mr. Dunbar began to count down excitedly as he stared at a very nice looking but appropriately plan watch on his wrist, "ONE!" The familiar, expected, yet unwanted feeling of something pulling at Harry naval appeared as the portkey finally activated. Any form of magical travel wasn't part of his talents, but were they useful! After thirty or so seconds of nauseating spinning accompanied by the ecstatic screams of the children present. The feeling ended as soon as it began, the only difference being that the large group all landed in a heap upon each other.

"Five past twelve from Urfolk's entrance gate!" A voice called as the group tried to untangle themselves from each other. Harry had somehow found himself on top of Mr. Dunbar's ginger headed spouse and his arm beneath Zabini who was lying down at an odd angle between Greengrass and Davis. When Harry finally untangled himself he politely offered his hand to the man he had landed on - he took Harry's hand gratefully. When he was in an upright position he thanked Harry for his help before heading over toward his daughter who was face down in the grass with the two children giggling wildly on top of her.

Harry headed over towards Zabini and the girls at his left, finding Zabini's smug smirk highly amusing as the girls struggled in vain to untangle themselves from him while Zabini did next to nothing but lay there happily content with the situation. Pitying the uncomfortable girls, Greengrass in particular with her face blazing Weasley red in color and an uneasy crease present on her brow, he helped each up into a standing position after a moments pause before helping Zabini by giving the Italian incentive to stand on his own two feet by kicking the boy playfully in the torso, "Up you go, Zabini. Don't want to miss the game while lying around on your bum do you?"

"Oi, Peverell! I thought you were raised a gentlemen, don't you know how to treat a magnificently alluring lad such as myself properly?!" The boy nagged sarcastically before his face suddenly became very serious, "And be careful of my robes, this is the finest of Italian leather, I'll have you know!" Harry left his Italian potions partner to his dark mutterings while he headed over to Nott for some _wanted_ company.

Nott was rubbing some fresh and yellowing contusions staining his alabaster arms as the bespectacled one approached. Besides the few bruises present, however, the Nott heir seemed to have escaped being harmed too much by the tumbling fall of portkey travel. "Not too banged up, I hope?" Harry asked dully as a poor substitute of greeting and expression of his concern, sentimentality simply did not come naturally to him, in fact, rarely even synthetically. The sorting hat didn't even consider Hufflepuff as an option for the Peverell heir for a _very_ good reason.

Nott wouldn't mind though, he was just as cold blooded as Harry was, possibly even more so. The anemically pale boy splattered with contusions only glared balefully at him before smirking amusedly once he finally let his mask fall in the presence of one of the only people in existence that he would call a friend. "I'm decent enough, Peverell, nothing a bit of sunshine and walking won't fix." Nott's eyes wandered over to Davis and Greengrass who were speaking in low grumbling voices and murmuring copious amounts of profanity about one perverse Italian, who shall not be named.

"I didn't realize that you were acquainted with Greengrass." Nott noted, though they were both well aware that it was a question.

Shrugging honestly, Harry answered, "I wasn't until today actually – the matter is a bit complicated at the moment, I'll update you at a later date". Nott bowed his head in either understanding or acceptance, Harry couldn't be sure.

Neither being particularly inclined to conversation at the moment nor of a loquacious nature, allowed themselves to be silently herded out of the portkey zones by a pudgy little man who seemed far more interested in his footwear than that of those he was apparently escorting to the registration point. Glancing over at his other companions, Harry found that the Dunbar and younger families had gone off on their own to a different station if he were to guess. Malfoy looked a bit ruffled and a bit off, his condition, however, could not prevent him from sneering at their escort every time the man opened his mouth and spoke in his barely intelligible Scottish brogue that Harry could barely discern was English and not Gaelic.

The check in point was a shack like building that had probably once upon a time been a farmhouse of sorts. Long tables were lined up with attendants sitting about one meter apart from each other with large stacks of parchment at either of their sides and enchanted quills all about writing whatever it was they were writing with little to no assistance from their enchanters who spoke animatedly about the recent matches of the World Cup. Malfoy was fast tracked through the long lines of rabid Quidditch fans while the rest of his guests stood back and allowed him to check them in on the other side of the structure with a wispy old woman with a snappish tone to her voice.

Harry stood back; content to watch his friend and acquaintances chatter and interact with each other, simply glad that he was no longer with the muggles of Privet Drive. Davis was being a bit short with Zabini as they spoke of his boyfriend Corner who Davis believed could do better. Nott and Greengrass were leaned against a wooden pillar to his left and discussed quietly who they believed would be elected the president of the dueling club this coming year with the graduation of their previous president, Axton Abbott, a club that both attended regularly, though Harry did not.

Not that he didn't know how to duel, for he did know and knew quite well, but his specific style of dueling was somewhat… frowned upon by the general populace. Not that it particularly mattered to Harry what the ministry thought of his skills, after all, what mattered in the end was that his opponent was dead and he alive, how that conclusion came about was inconsequential to him at this time. Any spell or enchantment, regardless of nature or origin, was no more than a means to an end.

Even if he had desired to join the club he wouldn't have since he was so preoccupied with Quidditch and his academia, which he had to carefully regulate in order to not incur unwanted attention or observation.

At that thought, he focused his gaze on Greengrass. If the girl had done her research properly, as he suspected she had, she most likely knew his class ranking and academic standing. Wealth and status was one thing in regards to courting, but any practical witch knew that an intelligent partner was better than a rich partner when it came to a long term relationship. Harry wondered what the droopy-haired one averaged academically and where she placed amongst the Hogwarts populace. It wasn't exactly a major concern for him that his partner is intelligent or talented, but it did matter to him that they were at least competent.

He would have to sneak into Professor McGonagall's office and check her records once the year began… "Alright, dunderheads, lets be off." Malfoy said as he approached suddenly, waving them all generally eastwards and towards the campgrounds. The group of teenagers followed him in faux obedience as he navigated them through the throngs of excitably children, exasperated women, and fanatic men. Harry and his companions watched amusedly the thousands of fans and their peculiar little tents.

The Japanese fans had settled on a hill slightly north of where the group was and Harry could see from the distance colourful puffs of smoke being emitted from little chimneys on the roof of the tents and the brightly flashing dragon and coy fish designs that moved across the charmed fabric of the Japanese tents. Idly, Harry wondered how many galleons a magical kimono like the ones the Japanese women and some of the men were wearing would cost him, since they were quite beautiful with their glistening water like silk and enchanted images and designs. He had never seen a style like them, especially since witches and wizards of Britain preferred neutral colors for their generic robes with little to no patterns imprinted upon them.

In stark contrast to the elegant and colourful Japanese campsite were the Bulgarian campers who had concentrated just south of the Japanese. Their blockish and dark dragon hide leathered tents appeared more like miniature and portable prisons rather than temporary homes - the Bulgarian fans themselves didn't help to alleviate this dour atmosphere with their almost viciously proud and intimidatingly hard mood that permeated the surrounding area like a wet, lukewarm blanket made of a heavy and awkward woolen material.

The life size posters of the sallow skinned and sullen eyed Krum in a deep bloody red uniform didn't help either…

He didn't know where the Canadians had ended up setting up, but guessed that it must have been on the opposite side of the camp seeing as he couldn't see any indication of them anywhere in his peripheral vision. It was possible, however, that the Canadian wizards and witches had simply blended in seamlessly with the Irish, who were also clumped together with the other English speaking nations such as Australia and all the Independent States **(1)**. It wouldn't surprise Harry very much, even though Magical Britain had never colonized in the Americas, they still maintained relatively good international relations with their muggle counterpart's off-shoots.

In fact, he had even briefly considered going to Salem Institute for a short time, unfortunately, that aspiration was squashed by the fact that Salem was an all witches institution and all the other magical academies in the other Independent States just simply weren't up to par with Hogwarts, the leading school in Europe. A pity really, he had hoped to go into Salem's infamous curse development and elemental magic programs.

"Nott, do you think that the French will be paired with us in among the campers?" It would also be a logical conclusion to clump the French with the Irish seeing as such a large percentage of the British population spoke French and would no doubt be among the Irish.

"No, actually, they've been settled with the Canadians on the other side of the field, I believe." Nott answered softly, his voice a bit hoarse per usual, "Though I do wonder how the Independent States divided up".

Harry nodded his head in agreement and looked up at the dreary grey sky of the British Isles, "I'd reckon that the north-eastern ones would support the Irish, the central ones Canada, and the southern ones Bulgaria, though as for the western ones, I wouldn't be able to say." The Independent States were well known for their division and the constant tension between the fifty magical states, all with their own magical governments, religions, ethnicities, and so on. It was practically like another magical Europe across the Atlantic, except for the fact that the Independent States were a lot more adversarial than their magical European counterpart.

"Oh, I'd bet the west would side with the Japanese, after all they're just over the Pacific from the western states." Nott reasoned.

"Maybe, but I don't really know how they get along with the Asiatic countries, I suppose it doesn't really effect us, seeing as they won't come over with the Irish when the north-eastern states are settled with us." Harry pointed out reasonably as they trekked over the last of a series of small marshy hills and into the Irish camp ground, which was made up of a variety of tents in a variety of colors. The only real similarities between all the little tents was the medieval design and the fact that a good majority of them were covered in thick layers of clover and moss, making the campground look almost camouflaged. If not for the fact that almost every tent's chimney was billowing and the thousands of merry witches and wizards drinking beer and elven wine, that is.

Malfoy and Zabini were a bit ahead of Nott and Harry so didn't bother waiting up for their friends to catch up, but in reality it was mostly due to the fact that the two were prats by nature. Harry used his forearm to make Nott pause so that they could wait for Greengrass and Davis to catch up to them. Magical Britain was pretty high up on the chart in terms of gender equality, but Harry wasn't willing to take a risk with so many foreigners around and two teenage girls wandering about with an underage magic law prohibiting them from defending themselves properly.

Especially in a large crowd of armed witches and wizards drunkenly celebrating with copious amounts of Irish brew flowing from their goblets.

After a few moments of jostling about the cheering charmed-high Quidditch fans Harry and Nott were able to back track and find their female companions leaning against a small wooden bell tower of sorts that probably acted as some sort of land mark for the event that sat near the edge of the Irish camp grounds. Both didn't look very pleased with being left behind, though really, who could blame the boys with the amount of people around for the largest magical event of the decade.

At least Peverell and Nott came to find them, unlike some others who shall not be named.

* * *

 **D** aphne and Tracey stood stewing about for at least seventeen minutes before their companions _finally_ found them among the swarming Quidditch fans near some old bell tower, "Greengrass, Davis, you seemed to have been misplaced by us, our sincerest apologies." Nott spoke up in his usual emotionless drawl when they arrived, causing Daphne to turn towards their male companions who had left them behind along the journey to the Irish campgrounds, one of which was Peverell. Malfoy and Zabini were mysteriously absent, causing Daphne's eyebrow to twitch slightly in annoyance. Some host! "Have you been here long?" Nott followed up after only receiving an icy glare from her and a disdainful sneer from Tracey.

"Long enough that I might seriously consider complaining to my father about my male companions' irresponsibility and lack of decorum, Nott." Tracey snappishly replied, "And where might be our ever gracious host?" The amount of sarcasm dripping off of Tracey's tongue surprised Daphne slightly, sure Tracey was known for her dry and biting sarcasm, but her tone was more bitter than usual. Daphne peered at her sideways, wondering what could be the matter, before removing herself from the small wooden bell tower and approaching the two boys.

Walking towards Peverell, while simultaneously ignoring Nott she boldly strung her arm through his elbow. The action was definitely forward, but not unheard of when courting in magical Britain. She was on a strict time limit, after all, and needed to make it clear that she was interested in Peverell. If this action didn't hint to him of her intentions then he was duller than his Hogwarts marks indicated and was therefore not worth her time. The raven-haired boy raised an eyebrow in amusement, his glasses glinting slightly as he looked down at her. It was the first time they had made uninterrupted eye contact and she took note of the boy's bright emerald irises, which were usually obscured by the thick-black frames of his spectacles. There was awareness in his emerald eyes, but it was clear to be a passing interest before he turned his gaze back towards Nott.

Well, at least he hadn't rejected her… always a silver lining, she supposed.

"Well, we best go find Malfoy and Zabini before we lose anyone else along the way, shall we?" Peverell gestured towards Tracey and Nott as he spoke, before leading the way down one of the paths between the Irish and British tents, not giving Daphne any more attention, but still managing to be courteous. Daphne followed his lead easily enough, but turned her head back towards Tracey and Nott trailing just behind them. Nott simply gave her a knowing look when she caught his iron-grey eyes; she quickly averted her gaze to Tracey. Her best friend's eyebrow was arched so high that Daphne was sure it made a right angle, yet Tracey still gave her an almost unnoticeable nod for encouragement.

Turning back towards her path, Daphne contently held her arm around Peverell's own as he weaved their way through the celebrating masses. She was quite pleased to note that Peverell's arms were very toned under his thick autumn coat – the Quidditch team was obviously good to him. After twenty minutes of doing this, however, she became a bit disenchanted with his fitness and more concerned about escaping from the rambunctious Irish supporters. "Peverell… you have no idea where you're going, do you?" she asked contritely.

He chuckled sheepishly in response, "Well, Malfoy never did tell us where his tent was, I'm just heading towards the outskirts of the grounds where the largest tents aught to be. We should be there soon enough, I'd reckon only another coup…" He was interrupted from finishing his explanation by a rowdy shout that somehow penetrated through the jabbering and overwhelming noise of the Quidditch fans that surrounded them.

"Oi, Snake! Oi, oi, Snake, wait up!" shouted an outraged male voice in what was clearly either a Cornwall or Devon accent. Daphne felt Peverell minutely flinch while simultaneously hearing a prolonged groan just behind her from Nott. Swiveling her head about like an owl, Daphne quickly discerned why Peverell and Nott had reacted in such a way: _Weasley_.

The name sounded like a curse to her after years of dwelling down in the dungeons of Hogwarts, after all, it was meant as an insult among the snakes. Within a bustling crowd of passer byers in a temporary market place selling paraphernalia stood the most unfavourable ginger of them all. The bane of every Slytherin's Hogwarts existence stood but a few yards away with a blood red flush creeping up his neck and down from his scalp, a wand angrily clenched between his large knuckled fingers, and flanked by lightning scarred and bushy haired companions.

 _Ronald_ _Bilius_ _Weasley_.

The shaggy haired boy clambered over towards them in a hurry with Longbottom and Granger at his heels, both shooting nervous and uncomfortable looks towards one another. As the disgraced Gryffindor descendant approached, Daphne idly noted that the teen was getting Weasley himself soaking wet as he rushed over to them through the jostling crowd and splashed water all over himself from the rusty bucket he was carrying. "Oi, Peverell, what are you an' a bunch o' slimy snakes doing?!" The boy said indignantly, miniscule droplets of spit spraying out of his mouth all the while.

"Really, Ronald, you can't just verbally assault Peverell for no good rea…" Granger began in a bossy tone yet her flustered appearance betrayed her apparent resolve. a

Weasley cut her off quickly before she could even begin her tirade, which probably would have referenced a multitude of books. "O' course I have a good reason, Hermione!" The red head exclaimed, shocked that his friend would even question his actions, "He cheated Gryffindor ou' of the Cup! The slimey snake probably bough' his way on the team jus' like bloody Malfoy?!" The question was obviously meant to be rhetorical by the way Weasley gesticulated towards Peverell, Nott, Tracey, and Daphne herself like they were some type of evil demons that needed to be expelled from the vicinity.

Longbottom, the illustrious Boy-Who-Lived, moved to speak, but apparently thought better of it and instead felt it best just to take a few steps back and let everything unfold while he anxiously hovered about unsure of how to control his explosive friend. Daphne could already feel the trademark Slytherin sneer forming on her face as she witnessed Longbottom's spineless actions. Really, this Cowardly Lion was supposed to have murdered at eleven, slayed a basilisk at twelve, and fought off a hoard of dementors with a patronus at thirteen. Yeah, right - as far as Daphne knew the chubby boy couldn't even hold eye contact with Professor Snape for more than thirty seconds without braking down into nervous stutters.

"Weasley, I do not appreciate your false claims against my character, but I assure you that Slytherin won the Cup by their own merit." Peverell spoke up neutrally, sounding both bored and exasperated at the same time, "I refuse to have our outing ruined simply because you cannot tolerate the idea of me, your perceived enemy, scoring a few more points than Gryffindor managed."

"How _Slytherin_ of you, Peverell." Weasley grumbled malevolently - to Daphne, it ended up looking like the redhead was suddenly assaulted with a bad case of constipation than anything else, "Everyone knows you're a cheat, a slimy snake you, at leas' Weasleys ain't cheats bu' you sure are! A taitor, that's what you are!" Daphne noticed Peverell's eyebrow twich and his lips thin at the latter accusation; obviously the term had hit a nerve.

"How ironic coming from the blood traitor, Weasel." Nott drawled with his eyes lidded in disinterest as he spoke down to Weasley from Peverell's other side. Daphne noted distractedly, and amusedly, that Tracey had felt it best and or more productive to go over to one of the stalls selling sweets than defend Peverell. Not that she was really obligated or even inclined to do so, as far as Daphne knew Peverell and Tracey had only just met… well, to be fair, Daphne had only just met Peverell as well…

"Stay out of this, snake." Weasley snapped at Nott, probably not even knowing who Nott was or what his name was, but Daphne supposed it didn't matter to Weasley. As long as one was a Slytherin, they didn't deserve common courtesy.

"Ron, we really should get back to your dad and brothers." Longbottom implored to his friend from the sidelines.

"But, Nev, how can we jus' leave?! They probably are up to some Death Eater business!" Death Eater business, they were literally just walking through the market and as far as she knew only Nott's family had declared their allegiance to the Dark Lord, who had long since fallen.

"Neville's right, Ron." Granger spoke up once more, "We do need to get back, there's no use causing senseless trouble". Her eyes darted nervously between Weasley and Peverell.

"Thank you for your advice, Granger, and I believe my house mates and I will take our leave." Peverell said with a small nod towards the bushy haired muggleborn, who blushed crimson in response. A fact that Daphne wasn't particularly pleased about, fortunately, Peverell didn't seem to recognize the implications of the reaction. Peverell turned his attention back on the fuming Weasel, "You would do best to listen to your more intelligent companion, Weasley. Don't bother me again with your drivel." He spoke with finality in his tone before turning his attention away from the Golden Trio.

The Weasel, however, wasn't quite done and quickly pulled his arm back in preparation to throw the rusty bucket of water at Peverell's head. Peverell apparently saw this coming out of the corner of his eye and turned around to block the projectile while simultaneously shoving Daphne to the dewy grass covered ground and out of the way with the movement. Daphne landed roughly on her bum and didn't even have time to process what had happen before she was suddenly drenched with water from the bucket. Looking up in slight shock and indignation, she saw Peverell grab his forearm and hiss in apparent pain from swatting the bucket away with his flesh.

Daphne stumbled to stand as Nott swiftly moved to help him, but they were both stopped short by the sound of denting metal hitting flesh once more followed shortly by an ear piercing, squeak-ish scream of agony. Looking towards the Golden Trio Daphne, who had only just managed to get half way up, found Granger on the ground grasping her swelling head, which had been apparently hit by the deflected bucket. Weasley saw this and roared in anger, pulling back his fist in order to punch Peverell in revenge like some brawling muggle while Longbottom rushed to Granger's aid. Nott grasped Peverell's bicep in order to pull him away from the assault, which left Daphne, who had been partially behind Peverell, as the point of impact.

Weasley's clenched fist rammed into her brow and toppled her already unsteady frame back to the earth where her head made a loud _thunk_ sound as it hit something quite hard and unforgiving. The last thing she remembered as everything began to dim and be engulfed in darkness was distressed screaming from all around her while pounding warmth spread over her aching head.

* * *

 **H** arry sighed warily as he sat in the medical tent of the Irish campgrounds with Nott by his side; the heel of his hand massaged his throbbing temple all the while. The disastrous encounter with Weasley had hit its climax after Greengrass had been thrown to the ground by Weasley's assault. Chaos had soon ensued with Nott and Harry being dragged into a muggle fistfight with Weasley who was in turn reluctantly backed by Longbottom. Davis had nearly blown her top when she saw Greengrass attacked, but she was wise enough not to involve herself in the matter, physically that is. Instead, she chose to get Aurors on the scene while simultaneously incriminating Weasley as revenge – not that the moron needed to be incriminated; everyone in the vicinity had seen Weasley as the aggressor, justly so, too.

Weasley probably didn't see it that way though and tensions between them would surely be intolerably thick once school began and they were forced to be around each other again by circumstances. Harry genuinely wanted to bang his head on a table at the thought. He loathed all this useless drama, particularly the drama that concerned the _Golden_ _Trio_ , he sneered internally at the moniker of the little group of friends - Harry personally thought the Intolerable Team or something similar would be more appropriate. How someone as intelligent as Granger could even tolerate Weasley was beyond Harry's ability of comprehension.

Huh! Three years of careful neutrality gone to waste!

That wasn't the biggest concern at the moment though, Harry thought morbidly as he glanced over towards Greengrass' bed where she lay resting with a nervous Malfoy profusely apologising to her, most likely to save his own neck once the boy's platinum blonde father arrived with Lord Greengrass to check in on the girl. Oh, and would there be hell to pay when Malfoy Sr. finally arrived. Harry shivered involuntarily at the very thought, Malfoy was wise to beg for forgiveness now, hopefully it would lessen the blond's punishment. Harry didn't know how magical parents punished their children, but if it was anything like Mr. Dursley's punishments…

Poor Malfoy wasn't lucky all the time it seemed.

"Are you doing alright, Nott – has the bleeding from your cut stopped?" Harry asked his friend, trying to mask his concern with a nonchalant tone. He was now of contracting age, he really needed to start acting like the Lord Peverell he was destined to be, which meant no public displays of affection, particularly for another future lord.

"Its alright, mostly my swollen elbow that's bothering me, Longbottom got pushed into me when he was trying to pull Weasley off of you." He said as he gently patted his elbow, careful not to aggravate the tight pain that was already present. Harry gently patted Nott's shoulder in a rare show of comfort and support, but he also didn't waste much time in pulling his hand back into his own personal bubble space. Harry didn't do touchy stuff; he respected other peoples' bubbles and expected the same courtesy for himself, thank you very much.

"It's official, should there be war House Malfoy will _specifically_ target _Weasleys_ for this slight." Malfoy growled as he plopped down besides Harry on one of the levitating gurneys within the Red Ouroboros medical tent **(2)**. Harry turned to his year mate and was intrigued and at the same time worried to fine lines of stress marring the pureblood's porcelain brow. Harry had never seen such an expression, regardless of how subtle it was, on the spoiled blond besides him. What did Malfoy have to fear; surely his father wasn't so harsh with a mistake out of Malfoy's control?

"Well, let's hope war never comes and that you don't actually get a chance to fulfil that declaration." Harry said slowly in a soft voice, eyeing his class mate, "Perhaps one day you can challenge Weasley to a duel, House Malfoy and Weasley still have a blood feud brewing if I'm not mistaken – you might just have a legitimate chance to end it in the future." Malfoy turned to him with an amused expression gracing his aristocratic face, all previous signs of distress now carefully hidden behind a pureblood mask.

"Yes, wouldn't that be pleasant." Malfoy's amused grin suddenly widened, vaguely reminiscent to a dragon's snarling expression, "I can imagine traitorous blood across my duelling robes already, just as red as that mudblood-loving Weasley's hair."

Lucius Malfoy chose that moment to walk into the tent and it only took a few milliseconds for the boys to get to their feet and into a proper head-bow of respect as was expected in the presence of a lord – arms crossed, heir rings visible, and a "Merry meet, Lord Malfoy." Malfoy's father took a moment to survey them; his eyes rove over them as one might gaze over the merchandise at a House-Elf auction.

Those silver eyes stopped abruptly on Harry, connecting with his own emerald irises, Harry found himself momentarily entranced by the metallic liquid flowing within Malfoy Sr.'s eyes – however, they were different from Malfoy's, the Lord Malfoy's reminded him of liquid nitrogen trapped securely in glass orbs, dangerous yet no less captivating. A pang of jelously shot through Harry, wishing that he too had grey irises, which were so common amongst the pureblood populations. He quickly shook it off and schooled himself. "Am I correct in understanding that there was an altercation, Heir Peverell." It was not a question; they both knew there had been such an altercation. Harry was left to wonder why he specifically was being questioned…

"You are correct, Lord Malfoy." The blandness of his own voice left a numbing sensation on his tongue, "Both Heir Nott and I experienced an altercation with Heir Longbottm and the youngest son of the Weasley Clan, Ronald Weasley. Daphne of House Greengrass and Hermione Granger were unintentionally harmed due to their proximity - both have since been healed. Tracey of House Davis was not within close proximity, but had seen the scene and alerted authorities. Blaise Zabini and your son were not in close proximity to the altercation and had not known of said altercation until authorities notified them and brought them here."

Lord Malfoy's curious gaze intensified on him, searching him, "Am I also correct in understanding that this altercation's nature was reminiscent of brawling _muggles_." Yet another non-question, but Harry understood now. He was being reprimanded for fighting, specifically for fighting like a _muggle_. A sense of shame overwhelmed him and he struggled not to keep the flush from his aristocratic cheeks that he had been blessed with from his father. Would his respectable ancestors be ashamed of him? Had his time with the muggles damaged him beyond repair? _This was not the time!_ Squashing his spiralling thoughts, he straightened his posture and hardened his mask.

Harry managed to answer in a clipped, but neutral tone. "That is correct, sir." Lord Malfoy moved to speak once more, but was prevented from doing so by his own son.

"Father, it was the blood traitor's fault, the mudblood-loving mongrel was the aggressor of the entire affair along with being accountable with assaulting Greengrass directly and the mudblood, Granger, indirectly. The Auror Report on the matter even says so." Lord Malfoy eyes snapped to his son's, reprimanding him with a single look for his words. Again, however, Harry was all too aware of the subtext within this conversation. Malfoy wasn't being admonished for his use of the word mudblood; Malfoy was being admonished for his use of the word mudblood in _public_.

It wasn't politically correct _yet_.

Lord Malfoy stared at his son for a good few seconds more before nodding stiffly in acknowledgement to his son's argument and turning on his heel and stalking off, like the albino peacock he was, to speak to Greengrass a few yards away from them, half hidden by a white hospital curtain. Harry blinked at this, a silent reprimand was all Malfoy received? Had Harry done something similar with the muggles he would have been locked in the second bedroom without food for the entire summer! Clearing his mind of the muggles for a moment, Harry looked around the tent for either Davis or Zabini. It was only then that Harry noticed that Lord Greengrass had not come to check on his daughter nor had he sent a representative in his stead. Harry frowned in thought, this was quite peculiar – the man's daughter was physically assaulted and yet he hadn't even sent a House-Elf to at least check up on her?

Harry looked to Nott who had a knowing look in his eyes as he watched Malfoy Sr. stiffly speak to Greengrass in bed, his eyes averted from the conversation taking place yards away, however, once he felt Harry's eyes on him. Harry raised his eyebrow, trying to convey his concern and confusion with the situation. Nott quirked his own eyebrow in return, as if to say 'you don't know?' Harry scowled back; he wouldn't have questioned his friend had he known. Nott shook his head in amusement, an exasperated smile lightly gracing his lips, essentially indicating to Harry that he would explain later. Harry continued to scowl nonetheless.

"Coddleswap!" Malfoy said suddenly in frustration as he looked down at his gold and diamond encrusted pocket watch, rage over Weasley no longer hindering his emotions, giving a glimpse of the spoiled boy Harry had broom races with first year, "We need to get going, its already six in the evening, if we don't get to the stand soon we'll miss the Irish playing against Japan." The blond ground his teeth anxiously and looked to his father and Greengrass with a hopeful expression.

It seemed as if the gods were on Malfoy's side that evening as Greengrass was released moments later by Healer Nordwick with a clear warning to avoid standing too long and to come back immediately should she experience any nausea or vertigo. Lord Malfoy silently collected the group of Slytherin teens before guiding them to the ridiculously enormous stadium for the semi-finals of the Quidditch World Cup. Harry felt a rush of excitement; he hadn't ever been to a professional Quidditch match and he was suddenly overcome with childish glee while being surrounded by all the commotion.

He looked to the rest of the group to find similar expressions across their faces, sans Malfoy Sr. whose face was crinkled from all the sneering and scowling he is forced to do when surrounded by such filth as Quidditch fanatics. Harry's eyes even caught Greengrass' for a moment, she was looking around amusedly but when their eyes caught she flushed happily and smiled at him despite looking a bit peaky from her previous ordeal as collateral damage. Harry had the sudden urge to apologise to her, but it was really unnecessary seeing as it wasn't his fault. He smiled in return before turning back forwards as not to trip and to focus on manoeuvring his way through the crowds without loosing his companions. Not that it was difficult; people did tend to part like the Red Sea when Lord Malfoy was stalking towards them.

Harry stopped and cringed suddenly in surprise, had he just used a _muggle_ reference _,_ a _muggle Christian_ reference? He needed to get away from those muggles… He couldn't afford to slip up, especially in public. Even in the safety of his mind.

"Lucius, Draco, and Oh! Theodore, darling! I didn't even know you would be here, it's so good to see you!" Lady Malfoy exclaimed happily, the genuine nature of said happiness was a mystery to Harry – love was such a conditional emotion, after all. He watched as Nott smiled awkwardly in return to her questionably warm greeting before bending down to kiss both of Lady Malfoy's cheeks as was expected of a young boy reuniting with his dearest godmother who he hadn't seen in a few months. Harry vaguely registered the wafting scent of rose perfume emanating from Nott's godmother; it was delicate and sweet in Harry's esteemed opinion, but he felt it would have been beyond stupid to comment on that.

"Merry meet, Nari, its good to see you as well, you look as beautiful as ever." Lady Malfoy smiled lightly at the expected compliment before returning one of her own obligatory compliments.

"Oh, but not as cute as you have grown to be – just as handsome as your father, dear. The Nott blood runs through your veins like a raging river, no doubt, but I can still see Virgo's Black blood coming through in your cheekbones and jaw. Oh, in a couple more years you'll be just dashing, you'll be fighting off marriage-contracting girls and boys with the wood of your wand in no time." She nodded to herself, as if agreeing with some other gossiping witch on the matter, her smile suddenly softened before she looked to the rest of the group, greeting each and every one of them with decorum befitting a queen.

"Merry meet. Heir Peverell, I presume," She said as she approached him last, her eyes gracing over him in a tactful manner. He did, however, notice that she paused momentarily at the sight of his heir ring when he crossed his arms and bowed his head respectfully.

Harry felt uncomfortable and exposed under her gaze and hoped that his father's pureblood features shined through tonight. He would have to thank the gods once more that he resembled his paternal family so greatly – in fact, the only feature he received from his mother was his eye colour, which he ensured was carefully obscured by thick spectacles at all times. Fortunately for him, James Potter inherited many of his features from his mother, Dorea Black, and _every_ pureblood worth their wand could trace themselves to the illustrious House Black. The only notable and purely Potter feature he inherited was his multi-dimensional hair, which he managed to hide via potions and enchanted combs.

"Merry meet. You would be correct, Lady Malfoy." He spoke finally, "Peverell, Harry Peverell, a pleasure to meet your acquaintance". Lady Malfoy examined him further, but Harry managed to maintain his mask. After what seemed like minutes but was actually mere seconds, her neutral expression broke into a welcoming smile that warmed Harry.

"Indeed, but the pleasure is all mine", she nodded gracefully in acknowledgment, "I must say that it was wonderful to hear of House Peverell's reemergence after centuries of it being believed extinct. I'm gladdened to see that it will be claimed by such a proper young man, but I must ask after your father, dear, is he well?"

Harry nearly stiffened at the question and the sudden attention, but barely managed to keep his head. He had been anticipating for years someone asking after his parents, in fact, it was not only expected but also surprising that it took so long for someone to do so. "Aye, as well as one can, Lady Malfoy. My father still suffers from the war and is unable to interact at all these days." _Which is completely true, however misleading. James Potter would perpetually suffer from the war for he died in it and he was unable to interact at all these days. Not only that, but Lady Malfoy and the others couldn't discern which war I speak of or how exactly he suffers, let alone if my father is dead or alive._

"Ah, my apologies, Heir Peverell, I hadn't realized, I hope that your mother and you are coping well, yes?" _Well, wasn't she digging for information? A bit aggressively too_.

"I'm afraid you're mistaken, Lady Malfoy, for I have no mother." _And from his perspective, he did not. He considered Evans as his mother as much as he considered Mrs. Dursley his aunt, in other words, not at all. This was not unheard of either and was just as ambiguous of an answer as his first. Did he have two fathers or was his father a widow? Perhaps he had been blood adopted by his father alone? Or perhaps his father conceived him with a donor and surrogate? Lady Malfoy would like to know but Harry would provide only more ambiguity to each of her questions._

Lady Malfoy moved to speak again but was interrupted by the Quidditch semi-finals beginning with the banging of drums as large white tigers swarmed the stadium, silencing the crowds by the utter elegance and grace they contained as they danced and pranced. Smoky and glittering fog swelled from them, giving the creatures the most divine appearance.

* * *

 **D** aphne watched the exchange between the Peverell Heir and Lady Malfoy just as intently as Lord Malfoy and her housemates. It was not surprising that such attention was paid; after all, Peverell was a mystery. Much to her disappointment, however, very little was discovered besides the fact that his father was involved in one of the wars and that he didn't have a mother. Daphne bit her lip to keep from entering the conversation to ask her own questions – she didn't have the status to get away with interrupting Lady Malfoy. Peverell was such an intensely private person with such a neutral disposition – even his accent was difficult for Daphne to discern, as if he purposely altered it in some way… Fortunately, however, her patience wasn't tested too much longer for the World Cup began with the banging of drums and…

"Byakkomarudo," Nott murmured besides her when he caught sight of her awed appearance, "they're the Japanese mascots and highly prized across Asia, though not well known in Europe or North America."

"The fog or aura like substance they emit muddles the minds of their prey, but it's also used for attracting mates." Peverell suddenly spoke up between them, making his presence known while also giving his own two sickles on the subject - he had escaped Lady Malfoy's attention in the commotion and had approached Nott and herself without notice. "They're br_" Peverell moved to continue, but was cut off by a _sonorus_ -ed Ludo Bagman in a top box only a few down from their own.

"AHEM, AHEM, WELCOME ALL TO THE FOUR HUNDRED AND TWENTY SECOND QUIDDITCH WORLD CUP OF 1994!" All the spectators were broken out of their gawking of the byakkos and turned their attention to the all encompassing voice of Ludo Bagman, which soon was accompanied by excited screams and cheers from the hundred thousand or so fanatical Quidditch spectators.

Nott snorted, "What an idiot, he missed the introduction," Daphne looked at him strangely in question, he shook his head in exasperation before elaborating, "he was suppose to start the introduction _before_ the mascots came into the stadium." Ah, now Daphne understood.

"While I agree that Bagman has less than average intellectual ability, it was actually the Japanese who released their mascots too early." Peverell said as he peered down at the still dancing byakkos below them.

"BROUGHT TO YOU BY THE INTERNATIONAL QUIDDITCH ASSOCIATION AND SPONSORED BY BUTTERBEER, PUMPKIN JUICE, GRINGOTTS WIZARDING BANK, AND NIMBUS 2001! AHEM, AS YOU MAY SEE BELOW THE JAPANESE MASCOTS ARE ON THE PROWEL! AND HERE COMES THEIR TEAM!" Bagman announced enthusiastically as the Japanese team flew onto the field with white and red dragon fireworks going off around them.

"NOW, WITHOUT FURTHER ADO, THE JAPANSESE NATIONAL QUIDDITCH TEAM OF 1994, KEEPER IWAMOTO, BEATER TAKAHASHI, BEATER TAKAHASHI, CHASER SATO, CHASER SUZUKI, CHASER TANAKA, AND SEEKER _WANTANABEEEEEE_!"

The Japanese team preformed a couple impressive (and lethal looking) tricks as they rounded the stadium and were cheered on by their adoring fans and booed by the supporters of their rivals. As they completed their round of the stadium the byakkomarudo fled the stage with intimidating roars before the Japanese team took their place on the left field and stood ready for the game to begin.

"I bet twenty galleons on leprechauns." Peverell announced with a slight grin.

Nott snorted in response, "A fool's bet." Peverell laughed in response and turned to Daphne with a questioning yet also daring look – she couldn't help but smile at the mirth overflowing in his eyes. It seemed that the altercation from earlier that day had been washed away by the exuberance and joy of the event. Peverell looked so boyish and approachable when he smiled…

"I'll humour you and bet a galleon on some Cornish Pixies," Harry laughed once more and nodded his agreement to the bet before turning back to the stadium, Daphne was quick to follow his example.

Soon the stage was swarmed by bright green leprechauns (much to Peverell cheeky pleasure – "You owe me a galleon, Daphne.") who showered Leprechaun gold all about the spectators (some fool enough to fight over the falsity) and set off fire works of their own in the shape of shamrocks and rainbows. "AND HERE COMES THE IRISH MASCOTS, MY QUIDDITCH MATES! SOON FOLLOWED BY THE IRISH NATIONAL QUIDDITCH TEAM OF 1994, KEEPER RYAN, BEATER CONNOLLY, BEATER QUIGLEY, CHASER MULLET, CHASER TROY, CHASER MORAN, AND SEEKER _LYNCHHHHH_!" Bagman bellowed excitedly.

This time, Daphne pulled out her pair of Omnioculars to record the Irish team's own coordinated acrobatics while Peverell and her other companions cheered for the only country of the British Isles that made it to the semi-finals. "Do you know if Lynch is any good, Peverell?" Daphne asked loudly to be heard over the cheering crowds, knowing enough about Quidditch to understand that it was most often the seeker who decided the game.

"He's decent enough, he's on the National Team, after all," Peverell answered just as loudly, his attention more focused on the game than her question, which wasn't really surprising considering, "However, the Irish are known for their chasers rather than their seeker (unlike Bulgaria who depend on Krum) – the chasers are just as important as the seekers in a professional game. This should be a good game, considering the Japanese have one of the best keepers against the world's best chaser trio – the seekers probably won't matter much in this game."

She nodded her understanding and turned back to the game at hand, where she found the Irish at the ready on the right field, facing their Japanese counterparts. A floating scoreboard was lit up at the vertex of the stadium's non-existent ceiling, floating in mid-air was: IRENLAND: 0 – JAPAN: 0. A galleon was soon tossed by the referee in favour of the Japanese, who quickly started the game by taking the quaffle and heading towards the right field in hopes of getting through to the Irish keeper (she didn't even try to memorize their names). "AND THE GAME BEGINS IN JAPAN'S FAVOUR, BEGINNING THEIR ASSAULT WITH A CLASSIC WOOLLONGONG SHIMMEY!" Bagman narrated, unnecessarily in Daphne's opinion. Even Daphne could figure out the Japanese team's zig-zag flying coordination was meant to confuse the Irish chasers (though it didn't seem to be working very well).

"LYNCH AND WANTANABE TAKE TO THE HIGH SKY IN SEARCH OF THE ELUSIVE SNITCH WHILE THE IRISH CHASERS FACE OF AGAINST THE JAPANESE CHASERS! NOT LOOKING GOOD FOR THE JAPANESE, I MUST SAY – THE IRISH CHASER TRIO ARE ABSOLUTELY SUPERB AND HAVE BEEN FLYING TOGETHER SINCE THEIR SCHOOL DAYS! OHHH! TROY STEALS THE QUAFFLE FROM SUZUKI WHO WAS TRYING TO PASS TO SATO, TROY QUICKLY CAPITALIZES ON HIS ADVANTAGE AND PASSES THE QUAFFLE ALL THE WAY BACK TO MULLET IN THE LEFT FIELD VIA REVERSE PASS! WHAT AN ARM!" Bagman went on with his narration while Daphne chose instead to focus on the players themselves. **(3)**

The Japanese team, she noticed, had a female majority, which was rare for a professional team unless the team was exclusively female like the Holyhead Harpies (Daphne didn't much care for them). She recognized a few of the Irish players as well, namely Aidan Lynch from Kenmare Kestrels and Lee Troy from Ballycastle Bats – both professional Irish teams. "MERLIN, LOOK AT THAT!" Bagman gasped, becoming even louder than he was before, "MULLET PREFORMS A CHELMONDISTAN CHARGE AND SCORES THE FIRST POINTS IN FAVOUR OF THE IRISH! IRELAND: 10 – JAPAN: 0 – THOUGH GIVE A HAND TO IWAMOTO WHO VALIANTLY DIVED AFTER THE QUAFFLE BY UTILIZING A BEAUTIFULLY EXECUTED STARFISH STICK!" Daphne couldn't help but be impressed; Mullet had stood on his broomstick, leapt into the air, and thrust the quaffle into the center goal! Daphne wasn't much into Quidditch (nor did she care much for Gryffindor tactics), but even she could appreciate the man's daring and skill. She could also appreciate the Japanese keeper's own skill when he hung off his Firebolt broom by one leg and one arm (in the middle of a dive!) to maximize his shielding ability.

"FOUL ON IRELAND BY BEATER QUIGLEY! BLATCHING AGAINST JAPANESE CHASER TANAKA!" Bagman roared, the crowd soon following with their own booing and sounds of disapproval. Daphne pulled on Peverell's arm for an explanation, having been too focused on the Japanese keeper when the foul occurred – she hoped she wasn't being too obnoxious with her ignorance of the game.

"Blatching refers to flying with the intent to collide, it's a pretty suicidal move and usually isn't done so early in a game – especially by the leading team. Why Quigley was stupid enough to do it is beyond me, but he practically loss the points that Mullet just earned." Peverell explained – he wasn't exactly patient with the explanation, but he was detailed and didn't look harassed so she didn't think he minded too much. She thanked him and let his focus return back to the game, not that it had ever really wavered.

Instead of watching the match, Daphne took a quick glance around the top box to see how everyone else was fairing. Malfoy Jr. and Zabini (she didn't really like the perverted Italian very much) were intently watching the match and had enthralled looks upon their regal British and Italian features respectively (even more enthusiastic with their cheers and boos than Peverell and Nott were). Tracey had seemingly gotten very bored with the entire affair and had taken to speaking with Lady Malfoy over butterbeers they had somehow procured. Lord Malfoy seemed more preoccupied watching the politicians in the top box next to their own than with the game, Daphne idly wondered if he was somehow eavesdropping on them for his own political gain.

Turning her attention once more to the match she was able to see that the score had drastically changed in her moment of distraction with the scoreboard above displaying Ireland in the lead: IRELAND: 90 – JAPAN: 70. She caught a couple snippets of Bagman's last announcement about some manoeuvre called a Dopplebeater Defense by the Japanese beaters - she didn't know what it was nor did she really care to learn. As far as she could tell Peverell loved Quidditch as much as any other young wizard, but it probably wasn't a make-or-break relationship requirement for his partner to be well versed in the mechanisms of the sport.

Hopefully he wouldn't go into professional quidditch as a career.

She watched Wantanabe pull a Wronski Feint on Lynch, who fell for it, but was fortunately unharmed in the end and continued to play, as well as watched the chasers continually battle for the quaffle. The beaters weren't really doing much in the meantime while the keepers were preoccupied with their rival chasers and protecting their goalposts and avoiding the occasional bludger. Very amusing for a couple minutes or so – she joined the cheers of Irish fans when they went off, but she'd rather be reading or something else, if truth were told. Not that the whole event wasn't fun (because it honestly was) or that she was homesick in anyway (because she honestly wasn't), it was more the feeling of unproductiveness that gnawed on her.

She had come to the World Cup in order to bond with Peverell or at the very least gain his attention, which she had to some extent, but in the end the only eventful things that had happened was her being punched in the face and knocking out for a couple hours before coming to the stadium to watch Quidditch (next to Peverell, yes, but his focus was on the match, not on her). Turning to Peverell while his focus continued to be on the game, she decided to get a closer look at him.

Despite the dusk light and the darkness dropping she was still able to see his features well enough due to the stadium lights. He dressed himself well despite it being casual and his ebony locks were neatly slicked back in a traditional pureblood style that had recently come back into fashion. His thick glasses did little to deter his classic pureblood features, wherein she could identify common Black and Rosier characteristics, possibly a smidgen of Longbottom traits too. If Heir Peverell's appearance was the norm for the Peverell line, she wouldn't mind if their potential children took after him more than her – especially in the ear department, she thought as she insecurely tightened her headband around her ears. Peverell didn't have the vela like beauty of the Malfoy family, but he was strapping in his own way. In fact, she thought they made a good match in terms of appearance.

"OH!" Bagman's loud and grating voice forcibly broke her out of her thoughts, "AND LOOK AT THAT, BOTH SEEKERS HAVE SPOTTED THE SNITCH! AND ONLY AN HOUR INTO THE GAME! THIS ISN'T A WRONSKI FEINT, FOLKS! WHOEVER CATCHES THIS ONE WILL DECIDE THE MATCH WITH THE CURRENT SCORES OF IRELAND WITH 110 AND JAPAN WITH 100!" Daphne jumped in surprise at that, the match was already about to end – it was even shorter than the average Hogwarts match?! She must have been more distracted than she thought, hopefully no one noticed…

* * *

 **H** arry was surprised that his voice hadn't gone hoarse from all the cheering he had done or that he hadn't passed out on the floor yet, to be utterly honest - poor Nott looked even more worn out from the entire affair despite the goofy grin plastered across his face. Contrary to what he thought would happen, the seekers did end up deciding the Ireland vs. Japan match, but he wouldn't have it any other way – he was a seeker himself, after all. As it turned out, Ireland's chasers were just as superb as Japan's keeper while Ireland's keeper was just as subpar as Japan's chasers. In the end it was a close call for both sides, but Ireland scraped by with a ten-point lead prior to the snitch being caught. Ireland was now set to play in the finals thanks to Lynch's close catch against a very formidable Wantanabe.

The Slytherins were now in Darco's personal tent drinking butterbear (and a couple bottles of Ogden's Fire Whiskey that Zabini snuck in) while the Malfoy parents had gone off to 'socialize' (aka – politicking) in their own tent with the high-ranking foreign officials and nobility. Not that that kept Harry up all night on August 21rst, no, no, no, what kept him up was alcohol and a spiralling sugar rush provided by said Malfoys (unknowingly for the former). If truth were told, Harry was enjoying himself for the first time in months with people he could more than tolerate. Sure the World Cup started off a bit ruff with the altercation with Weasley, but that was completely uncontrollable – not even a seer could predict the extent of that moron's stupidity.

Speaking of the altercation, Harry turned his head lazily towards Greengrass who was at another set of cushions across the room from him with her friend, Davis, and his own friend, Nott. She listened to Davis blather on about some boy in Ravenclaw by the name of David (or was it Devin?) and how much of a heart throb he was to the older years, though Davis proceeded to dismiss him as unworthy of herself, pointing out that she was already set to be engaged to someone of higher status. Harry frowned slightly in confusion at this; Davis already had a betrothal contract? Wasn't that a bit young or was Harry more naïve on the subject than he thought?

He looked to Greengrass with a slightly annoyed expression on his face; it seemed to him that this little girl brought many problems to the surface upon their introduction, most notably his own future prospects. Who would be the one to arrange him, sign the contracts on his behalf, ensure the prosperity and posterity of the Peverell line? Unfortunately, no one but himself could take this role, which made the entire affair so much more stressful, despite the liberation of choice. Would Lord Greengrass take advantage of his predicament, force Greengrass upon him without mutual consent – there was no one available to protect Harry from such a situation – he was too young to decide his future or challenge a lord five times his age… if only his father…

"Harry, are you quite alright?" Nott asked, leaning his head at an awkward and uncomfortable looking angle so that he could make eye contact while maintaining his position on Malfoy's Slytherin-green couch. Harry sighed at the question, he was tired and didn't particularly want to divulge his problems to Nott at the moment, but it was probably a good idea to get it over with - he fidgeted with his glasses contemplatively as he made his way to his friend's side, only a yard or two away from the girls.

"Not really, to be honest," Nott arched his eyebrow as Harry plopped himself besides him – he then explained in a subdued tone, eyeing Greengrass across the room as he did so, "Greengrass… and possibly Malfoy to a lesser extent. I'm positively sure she's pursuing a contract with me and I'm not sure what to do about it." He looked to Nott, as if his friend could solve world hunger and knew the formula for the Philosopher's Stone.

Nott's mood suddenly seemed to damper while an unreadable look crossed over his face, he looked away, but he answered nonetheless, "I'm assuming that your father has given you freedom of choice," Harry nodded, "Well then, House Greengrass would be an option – especially as they have approached you first… should war break and you choose Scotland or stay in England, which ever path you choose – she's from a neutral House, so she shouldn't be too opposed to either. She's a politically safe option.

"As a bride… she's easy on the eyes, I suppose, you'd be fortunate to have her. And, well, you need an heir and Greengrass is capable of aiding you in that regard." He paused, seemingly lost in thought. "On a personal level, well, I think you'd get along well enough, it wouldn't be too hard for either of you to learn to love the other. From what I know of her, she's quiet, thoughtful, compromises easily, and is just generally agreeable. One could even say submissive… almost Hufflepuff like. Now that I think on it, the only Slytherin trait she really embodies is resourcefulness and self-preservation…

"The only real negative I can see at this point to a relationship is her heritage." Nott concluded, sipping on a glass of Ogden's.

Harry frowned at that; he didn't know anything about her heritage besides her being a Greengrass. "What's wrong with her heritage?"

"Unknown creature." Nott responded simply.

"What do you mean?" Harry frowned, wondering what he was getting himself into.

"No one knows who her mother is." Nott elaborated, "Her father had an affair (he isn't very fond of the Lady Greengrass) and ended up saddled with Greengrass. He announced her to the public when she turned eleven, having hid her away prior to her Hogwarts letter, and has since refused to comment on who her mother is, but everyone knows her to be a half-breed." Nott explained, paused, and then noted: "I believe Rita Skeeter wrote a couple gossip pieces on the matter at the time, but they were unfruitful in revealing anything, just scandalous speculations."

"So… no one knows anything at all?"

"Not really. Lord Greengrass refuses to comment on her blood status all together, even to assure people that she is from a decent species… At least we know she's not part giant or anything and from her looks I'd say her mother's a pretty creature, perhaps a siren or a nymph… anyway, magic is magic. Perhaps some creature blood will strengthen your line… or is your father against creature blood?"

"It's not that – do you think she could be less than a half-creature? Perhaps just a quarter?"

Nott shrugged, "Another possibility, but still conjecture. I wouldn't worry too much about it though; no one will mind. Your potential children would be considered half-breeds, yes, but that's not necessarily bad – even desirable in some cases. Regardless, an arranged marriage between your potential offspring and some purebloods would restore the pure-blooded status of House Peverell again - no offense intended to Greengrass or you, just telling you how it would be."

Sighing softly, Harry leaned his head back on the couch and gazed with lidded eyes at the pointed roof of the tent as he fiddled once more with his glasses as he thought on what Nott had told him. After a moment of silence (well, silence between Harry and Nott – the girls and the other boys were still chattering loudly) Harry straightened up and looked towards Greengrass who was still listening to Davis. After yet another moment of staring at her, he asked Nott if he should pursue Greengrass.

Nott didn't answer for a couple moments, but answered eventually, as he often seemed to do, "Why not? If you end up not liking her you have the liberty as an heir to opt out, no one will force you to sign a contract with her if your father has given you such a freedom - so it's a low risk endeavour with the possibility of being highly lucrative if you did choose to pursue her. Socially, you could do better by pursuing a pureblood, but from an economic and political perspective you neither loose nor gain very much - actually, Lord Greengras may even offer you a larger dowry than normal due to her peculiar status. In the end the only real question you need to consider is if you can make a happy life together, which I've already given my opinion on."

Harry released yet another sigh, though this one was particularly explosive – he rubbed his heavy eyes aggressively, trying to contemplate coherent thoughts while simultaneously fighting off a throbbing headache and fatigue. Nott was right with his quintessential Slytherin analysis. Why not? Low risk with a potential of high gain, it was a winner's bet. All the possible factors were weighed and the scales were tilted in Harry's favour. In many respects, the larger question of to pursue or not pursue was made for him. Of course Harry still had some doubts, but he had made up his mind to pursue Greengrass at this point and his mind was at rest with that decision – he knew what he should do and he had a plan B of backing out should he feel the need. Moreover, he didn't even need to concoct any elaborate romantic schemes to gain Greengrass' attention as she had stimulated the possibility herself – really, the only thing he needed to do was let her know he was willing to try. Nott silently offered him a sip of his Ogden's Finest, Harry took it with silent appreciation.

Tomorrow, Harry concluded internally, he would make it clear to Greengrass that he was willing. He knocked the glass back and allowed the spicy flavour to coat his tongue and for the fiery liquid to slide down his throat bringing with it a welcome numbness for his aching head.

He didn't even register his eyes drooping close or blessed darkness consuming him.

* * *

 **D** aphne woke to a distinct throbbing in her head; fortunately, it wasn't the same throbbing sensation that had ended with her being treated by a healer just yesterday. No, this was a very familiar headache. Hangovers were wretched, weren't they? She hadn't even meant to drink as much as she had, but there was no going back now… unless she found a time-turner, which wasn't likely. Putting a bit of effort into opening her eyes, she managed to get into a semi-cognitive state where she found her head wedged awkwardly between Tracey's shoulder blade while her legs hung precariously off Malfoy's couch – apparently Tracey and she had gotten too drunk to make it to their tent-bedroom, settling instead on the couch in the main room.

She lifted her head slowly, not only to ease the pain but also to not wake her friend besides her. Once upright, Daphne took a moment to look around the centre room. She couldn't help but smile a bittersweet smile at the sight; all around the room hazardously laid about were the boys in various positions of unconsciousness. On the far right, propped up uncomfortably on the white marble table was Malfoy, face down, with the slightest bit of blood dried-up at his nostril with exploding snap cards laid about around him. Beneath Malfoy's chair, on the floor, lay Zabini – the Italian wizard's head sat right besides Malfoy's feet, burnt cards surrounded his torso and some poked out of his trouser pockets (obviously, he had tried to cheat Malfoy at some point in their late night game).

At the midpoint of the room was Nott, curled up on a lone cushion, his head resting on his knees, which made him look much younger and smaller than he actually was. He looked profoundly at peace in sleep, the typical tenseness of his body gone, instead replaced with a stony stillness. She almost smiled at the sight, but didn't. Near Tracey and herself and on the far left of the room was Peverell with his spectacles skewed on the bridge of his nose. His mouth was open slightly and she could see the subtle inflation and deflation of his chest from where she now sat. He had an empty glass gripped loosely in hand and she had no doubt that if she went any closer she would smell Ogden's on his breath.

Overall, the entire tent was eerily quiet.

Not able to muster enough energy to get off the couch (and aware of the fact that her awkward positioning would wake Tracey if she did so) Daphne chose instead to relax for awhile, reflecting on the previous night and trying to remember if she did anything suitably embarrassing while drunk. The night had started with Malfoy's parents dropping them off at their son's personal tent while they went off to some party or other. The night progressed with some games and chatter. At that point in the night, nothing too bad had happened, though she did have a vague memory of Zabini flirting (which had made her _very_ uncomfortable, but it was nothing new from the Italian). Some time after that someone (she was almost certain it was the Italian) scrounged up some alcohol and not just any alcohol either. Ogden's Fire Whiskey was probably the fastest way in the world to get hammered and of course that was what Zabini had to get.

Unlike her Slytherin housemates, she had never been introduced to alcohol by her parents at dinner or such. In fact, her father had strongly urged her not to touch the stuff altogether, citing that she was 'predisposed' to becoming intoxicated more quickly than usual. Similar to how she was more affected by potions than others are and therefore required lower dosages. He never gave any further explanation on it and never mentioned alcohol around her again. She would later find out in third year that she did indeed have a very low tolerance for alcohol, not that she ever stopped drinking at Slytherin parties, she was just more careful about how much she drank.

Last night, however, she did go a bit too far, having never had Ogden's before and underestimating its impact on her cognition. Fortunately, as far as she remembered, nothing bad came from the mistake. She had spent the majority of the night gossiping with Tracey about her soon-to-be betrothed, Stephen Cornfoot. Tracey had even asked her at one point or another whether or not she had someone special in mind and Daphne, being suitably intoxicated, had told her she was engaged to Marcus Flint, but had later changed it to Cedric Diggory as the conversation progressed. Tracey must have been just as drunk as she had been since her friend didn't seem to notice the change. They must have talked for hours as Daphne remembered snippets of conversation about many topics from intercourse to their transfiguration classes in second year. At some point, Daphne and Tracey passed out on the couch, resulting in Daphne now reminiscing silently this morning.

Well, it wasn't a good night, but it wasn't a bad one either.

As it turned out, Daphne was able to lounge about in peace for a good hour before Malfoy stirred and found the energy to wake everyone else up via water (Tracey not appreciating the gesture ended up stomping off to their tent-bedroom for the rest of the afternoon, declaring that she wouldn't come out until the Bulgaria vs. Canada match that evening). There had been a couple arguments between the boys, but it was much more in jest than anything else. After another hour or so of getting ready and lazing about, the boys and she agreed that they all needed some fresh air and weren't in the mood to hideout in the tent all day like Tracey was content to do.

The bustling crowds of the late afternoon Quidditch enthusiasts was a comforting sight, a dopamine inducing sight, however, she could have done without the blinding August sun burning her eyes once they emerged from the shadowed interior of Malfoy's tent. They really should have thought to pack some hangover potions or at least some soothing tea, but, alas, she would have to reap the mandrakes she had grown and bear her hangover with as much dignity as she could muster. She noticed that she was indeed the most visibly affected by their late night celebration despite drinking the smallest amount of alcohol amongst the teens. Not that she had been celebrating, she could care less whether or not the Irish had won, but she simply couldn't have been the only one who didn't partake in the merry making, now could she?

Glancing to Malfoy, she wondered idly what they planned to do for the rest of the afternoon while they awaited the match, Malfoy, however, did not seem to have any particular plan for the day and stood next to Zabini speaking in rapid French about something involving ' _des vela magnifiques_ ' and ' _la Bulgarie_ '. Daphne had only been taught Latin, Gaelic, and German as a child, but she knew enough French to discern that the conversation Malfoy and Zabini were having was not one she would ever want to be privy to. In fact, she would hope that she would never be privy to _any_ conversation in _any_ language that brought about the animalistic and cocky smirks on those Neanderthals.

Looking towards the more level-headed boys of the group (specifically Peverell) she found that the two boys in question were having some sort of silent conversation between themselves. After eyeing the rambunctious Malfoy and Zabini, Peverell silently shifted his gaze towards Nott, made eye contact, and stared intently. A couple moments of silence passed. Nott made a few indistinct faces all the while, which Daphne discerned to be mostly reluctance, before Nott let out a grudging sigh and finally broke eye contact between Peverell and himself. Peverell smiled apologetically.

"Malfoy, Zabini, speaking of vela, I think the three of us may benefit from visiting the Delacour tent in the Canadian campgrounds this morning." Nott announced, eyeing the other two boys with annoyance.

Malfoy blinked owlishly at Nott, clearly not comprehending why they would ever do such a thing. "Not that I'm against visiting some vela, but why ever would we do that?" Nott rolled his eyes, and tilted his head towards Daphne herself. She raised her eyebrows in surprise at his implications; whatever could Daphne have to do with vela? Malfoy didn't seem to understand either as he eyed Nott like he was some sort of brainless flobberworm.

"Oh for Merlin's sake!" Zabini finally exclaimed after a prolonged period of awkward silence, "Malfoy, we're going to go with Nott for the afternoon to eye some vela in the Canadian campgrounds while Peverell and Greengrass go meander about somewhere else, most probably in a romantic capacity. Now lets _go_." Zabini then promptly turned on his heel and began walking down the makeshift road between the tents towards the Canadians while Malfoy (" _Oh_!") chased after the son of the infamous 'widow of wizards' in realization. Nott snorted after them in disgust before slowly making his own way down the road, looking much more like a boy walking towards the gallows than anything else as he did so.

Daphne's eyebrows at this point had practically reached her hairline.

She looked back to Peverell for an explanation but was instead immensely amused to find his face buried in his hands and his ears bright red. "Care to explain, Peverell?" She asked, trying desperately to keep the impish smile sprouting on her face under control.

"Slytherins are supposed to be subtle." He mumbled behind his hands, " _Why aren't they subtle?_ "

She couldn't help it. She burst into fits of giggles, her pureblood mask shredded into confetti, blown away by the wind. "Well," she gasped between her fits, "they can be subtle when it's for personal benefit."

"But not for me." He mumbled in exasperation and embarrassment.

"Not for you." She impishly confirmed.

Peverell snorted and lifted his head up to smile down at her. The bridge of his nose was flushed, but the blood was quickly receding. His smile was a bit crooked, but there was a charm to it that she thought attractive. He had a very nice smile; hopefully she could bring it about more often. "Well, as the muggles say, 'the cat's out of the bag'." Her impish smile immediately morphed into a frown, what cat? What bag? Why was he using _muggle_ idioms? Probably sensing her discontent with his words, Peverell immediately dropped his own smile and cleared his throat uncomfortably, "Ahem, um, well, it means the secret's revealed, essentially." He shifted awkwardly between his gangly legs.

Regretting making him uncomfortable, Daphne quickly jumped to remedy the situation, "Oh, that's interesting. Sorry, I was just… unfamiliar with the phrase. And, well, I don't suppose it was much of a secret to begin with, was it?" She gave him an insecure smile, hoping it would lessen the awkwardness of the situation.

"Oh, yes, of course," he chuckled throatily and seemed to pull himself together, "Well, anyway, why don't we head towards the market area, I'm in the mood for some roasted fox, I haven't had any all summer." He held out his arm to escort her, which she took happily with an appreciative smile.

"Oh, why ever not? Surely there must be foxes near your Manor?" She asked curiously. She herself had never cared much for the meat, but she knew it to be a staple in any wizard's diet.

"Ah, well, I was actually near muggles for part of the summer…" He trailed off awkwardly, looking ahead.

"Oh," Daphne frowned in confusion, "Do muggle markets not carry fox-meat?"

"I don't think they _ever_ have it, actually," Peverell explained, sounding a bit confounded by this as he led her in the opposite direction of the Canadian campgrounds, heading instead towards the centre of the Irish ones.

"Really?" Daphne was honestly surprised, she knew that magicals and muggles had different cultures, but she had never really thought about it in the context of food. Why would muggles eat different food from their magical counterparts though? They did live on the same island with the same animals available to them, if the muggles didn't eat fox, sheep, goat, and deer, then what did they eat?

Answering her unasked question, Peverell explained that "Muggles tend to only eat a very limited selection of meat from what I've seen, most notably cow (beef), pig (pork), and chicken (poultry). Though, occasionally, I've seen them also eat fish, but not often… I mean, from what limited interactions I've had with them… and what limited muggle food I've tried…" Peverell seemed to be increasingly uncomfortable; perhaps he had had a bad experience with muggle food? It _did_ sound quite ghastly.

She wrinkled her nose at the thought, _pig-meat_? That sounded horrendous. She could understand cattle or chicken on occasion, but _pig_? Uh, it sounded truly awful. "And you ate pig-meat all summer?" She asked, trying to sound politely curious and not reveal her own disgust.

As it turned out, she needn't bother as Peverell sneered in revulsion, "Me? No. However, the muggles I… interacted with ate it every morning… in these strip-like pieces that are fried in oil (its known as 'bacon'). Many muggles are overweight due to their fatty and highly processed diet. The magical diet is significantly healthier and… superior, I suppose. I'm glad to be away from the filth and eat the proper food of proper heritage again." Daphne nodded in agreement, from what Peverell said muggle diet was inferior to their magical one.

"Speaking of food, I think I smell some up ahead, are you in the mood for anything in particular?" Her escort asked politely.

"Hmm," She whiffed the air experimentally, indeed smelling some sort of stew nearby, but after a bit of thought, she answered him, "a hangover potion, to be perfectly honest."

Peverell coughed down a laugh, "Drank one too many last night, did you?"

"Actually, I didn't!" She exclaimed in exasperation, "I just don't drink as often as the rest of you. Speaking of which, how in Dionysus' vineyard are you so sober right now? – It took me at least fifteen minutes to even get off the couch this morning."

"You've never been to a _real_ party then. Slytherin parties are so tame in comparison to the other Hogwarts houses. Gryffindor parties are all bacchanals – every Gryffindor is a future alcoholic, I tell you. Last night's little get-together was tame in comparison..." They quickly both divulged into a conversation about the attributes of each different Hogwart houses' parties – in the end, both concluded that, on average, Gryffindor had the best parties with exception to the End-of-Exams festivities hosted by the ravens.

The two enjoyed conversing about school life for another half-an-hour or so before they both found fare they liked from a portable restaurant called Cormac&Curtus, which served both fox (Peverell's current craving) and a variety of seafood (Daphne's favourite). They found a nice little booth in the expanded innards of the tent-restaurant before they ordered some roasted fox with vegetables and a shellfish salad respectively. Their conversation topics didn't change much until midway through the meal when Peverell finally brought up the reason why they were alone eating breakfast (technically lunch, as they had all slept through the morning).

"Not that I don't enjoy debating the virtues of having the Bloody Baron as a mascot, but I do think we have something a bit more important to discuss." Peverell noted as he finished chewing and wiped his mouth with a napkin – Daphne quickly swallowed what had just been put into her mouth before nodding her agreement. She had pushed the topic out of mind in favour of simply getting to know Peverell, but it was the reason they were even there together so it hadn't completely left the surface of her thoughts.

Peverell took another bite of fox, chewed thoughtfully, swallowed, and then finally spoke, "Am I correct in assuming that you're attempting to contract me?" He asked rhetorically.

"Not quite." She hedged, hoping that this wasn't one of those make or break moments, "My lord is allowing me to… ascertain if we would be compatible together for any prolonged duration of time with the hope of fruitful negotiations in the near future."

Peverell cocked his head at her in amusement, "I feel as if that was one of the most quintessential Slytherin sentences ever uttered, but, nonetheless, House Greengrass hopes of one day forming a betrothal contract with House Peverell, correct?"

She frowned at him in annoyance, "Correct, but it is circumstantial at this point in time."

Putting down his knife and fork for a moment, Peverell laced his fingers and eyed her intently across the table. Peverell's thick spectacles seemed to glint as he gazed at her, making it difficult for her to ascertain his thoughts and emotions. Daphne did her best to maintain his stare, but found that after only a minute she could no longer and looked away in defeat. The intensity of his stare was truly astounding, unnerving even. "I am… willing to ascertain if we would be compatible together for any prolonged duration of time with the hope of fruitful negotiations in the near future, Greengrass… however, I would prefer to keep things informal for now, just between the two of us… not our lords."

Daphne blinked, but soon enough a pleased smile broke through her mask. "I would prefer it no other way… and please, call me Daphne".

Peverell paused for a moment at the offer, which reminded Daphne that no one but Malfoy ever referred to Peverell by his givenname… and even then their relationship seemed much more one-sided on Malfoy's part. Moreover, Peverell referred to no one by anything other than surname, not even Nott whom he seemed so close to. Perhaps she should have waited before inviting him to refer to her in such a familiar fashion… "My father named me Harry; do not take the permission of its usage lightly".

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 **A/N:** **(1) Now, on to the countries - personally, I always thought it a bit unrealistic that the magical and muggle borders were apparently identical in the Harry Peverell Universe despite the separation of the two in 1689 when the Statue of Secrecy was signed. I mean, really, Scotland and England were only united via the Act of Union in 1707 and I assume that the magical and muggle worlds would have already begun to distance themselves from each other due to the witch burnings. Why the magical world would adhere to the decisions of the muggle government that persecuted them about which country they 'belonged' to isn't really logical. This is similar to the United States, which was only founded in 1776 (not even including western expansion towards the pacific ocean (1790-1900)), yet had the Salem witch trials in 1692, the same year the Statue of Secrecy was officially established and implemented. Why would the isolated magical world have the same borders as the muggle world when they don't even share a similar culture?**

 **(2) Another thing to discuss is the** **Red Ouroboros** **, which is essentially the magical version of the Red Cross (Debatably Referring to Christianity's symbol) in Western and South American (and other) societies such as the USA and Brazil and the Red Crescent (Possibly to Islam's symbol) in Middle Eastern countries such as the UAE and Pakistan and the Red Crystal (Probably linked to Judaism's symbol) in Israel. All of these emblems are of equal status and represent** **protection in conflict** **and reflects to some extent the major belief system within the culture, which I have interpreted along the lines of divine guardianship over** **healing/** **life** ** & ****death** **. Please correct me if I'm wrong in this assumption.**

 **(3) All Quidditch tactics and fouls were found on Harry Peverell Wikia – Hope I explained them well enough, not very into sports myself so it was a bit of a struggle to write about one, even if it was fictional – that's the main reason I made the game from Daphne's point of view because I could allow her attention to waver to other topics, which I couldn't do with Harry. My sincerest apologies, Quidditch fanatics.**

 **Next chapter includes Bulgaria vs. Canada, Ireland vs. Bulgaria, and the riot at the Quidditch World Cup – much more action to come in contrast to this very informative and slightly superficial chapter.**

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 **Reviews, corrections, and suggestions are welcomed! Hope you enjoyed (and please, constructive criticism)!**


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